The Blackbird's Keeper
by Abstract Art
Summary: Dastardly, despicable evil awakens in the heart of Texas where a soul blackened by a lust for vengeance becomes the Deadman's fatal target. More of the summary inside. Rated M for gory violence, sexual behaviour, and profanity.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a revision of my recent story, "Step Into The Darkside." I didn't really like the first one when I actually completed it so I decided to make it a bit different. I apologize in advance for those who liked the original version, but in the opinion of the author, this had to be done. Hope you all like this new revised version. Feel free to review. **

**Summary: The Ministry of Darkness is disturbed beyond reason after an attack is made on The Undertaker's conscience, Paul Bearer. With the sacred urn stolen and Paul Bearer left for dead, all fingers are pointed at The Big Red Monster, Kane. But Taker knows that whoever attacked Paul and stole his main conduit of power was a being more powerful than the younger brother of destruction. As Taker and his Ministry begins their pursuit of vengeance, The Undertaker finds another soul who's heart is tainted and blackened by anger, hatred, and lust for revenge against the supernatural death of her father. The gates of Hell open as past secrets are uncovered and an evil like no other rises from Death Valley...to enslave humanity and silence those who oppose.**

_The pentagonal chamber was exceptionally dark from its dreary charcoal walls to its cold, stone flooring. A single ray of pale moonlight cascaded in a slanted fashion into the room from the only window in the room, providing very little light. But the main source of light came from a long stone table sitting in the very center of the room. Upon this table, about fourteen candles were lit, each flickering flame casting restless shadows upon the solid white pages of a large open book which lay between them, seven candles on its right, seven more on its left. The pages of this book contained symbols, letters, and markings that were of otherworldly origin, a language long forbidden and perhaps forgotten by the very demonic beings that created them. So accursed were the writings of this book that no human could look upon it without suffering a sentence from the fiery pits of Hell itself. But the large, shadowy figure standing over the table, tracing its massive fingers across each line written on the pages of this book...was no ordinary human being. One could tell as much by the setting in which it resided, the darkness that surrounded it and welcomed it as if it were home. Standing nearly seven feet in height and draped in a sweeping, velvet black robe, the figure was wordless, soundless as it read the contents of the cursed book. It seemed determined in its studies...much to the fear of the eyes watching it. _

_She was well hidden in a shadowy corner of the room, but her fearful heart still pounded as if she were standing in plain sight. Her ocean blue eyes trembled but never blinked as she examined the demonic entity standing just a few feet away from her. She could hear its every breath, every low growl that rumbled within that velvet robe. It hadn't occured to her own breath was frozen in her lungs, until a harsh burning in her chest relayed the news to her. The moment the air slipped between her lips, she wearily regretted it. For now, the hulking, black figure had stopped its reading and its head slowly lifted upward. As she watched the motion play before her eyes slowly, the only thing she could make out from the darkness inside that hood, were cold, acid green orbs. And then the darkness swallowed her... _

...

It'd been a grueling night for the well-sculpted blonde known as Hunter Hearst Helmsley as just moments ago, he was forced to defend his Heavyweight title against the infamous lady-killer Val Venis in a non-disqualification match. There was no telling what the hellbent Vince McMahon was thinking when he decided to make that match. Fortunately, Hunter had won thanks to his best friend, the sledge hammer. Just before Val nearly slugged him with a metal chair, Hunter had rolled beneath the ring, appeared from under the otherside with the deadly weapon and charged Val from behind, ending the man for the night.

Hunter could still hear the sound of the poor man's skull splitting from the awful blow as he entered his locker room, only to find Chyna and Shawn Michaels waiting for him with looks of excitement.

"Hey, good job out there man!" Shawn exclaimed joyously, wrapping an arm around Hunter's shoulders. It was a surprise he wasn't bothered by the heavy amount of sweat sheeting Hunter's half-naked body at the moment. Chyna, on the other hand, chose to keep her distance.

"You kicked ass tonight, Hunter. Way to represent the D-X." Said Chyna as she folded her arms across her chest, keeping her all-business demeanor.

"After tonight, I'm gonna need a couple shots." Hunter replied with a smile, a bit hunched over as he tried to catch his breath. Wet blonde tresses stuck to his cleanly-shaven face, curtesy of thick sweat and Deer Park water he'd splashed on his head before the match.

"And while we're there we can figure out a way to get Vince back for putting you in that match. I mean, seriously." Shawn frowned. "What's been up with that guy lately? He PMS'ing again?"

"He's still pissed about what happened with me and his daughter." Hunter chuckled a bit, but felt a bit awkward when he noticed the hardened look on Chyna's face.

It was no secret that Hunter Hearst Helmsley and Stephanie McMahon had a thing for each other and it was confirmed about three days ago when they were caught having sex in a hotel. Vince found out the very next day and was infuriated. He didn't like Triple H much to begin with so the news had disturbed him to his very core. Eversince then, things had only gotten worse between the two. And to make matters worse, Chyna also had a thing for Triple H but refused to admit to it. Shawn caught on soon after her feelings for him blossomed and wanted to keep it secret from Hunter in respect for Chyna, but the truth slipped eventually. Of course, Hunter was a bit taken aback, but decided to act like he had no clue.

"I know what you're gonna say." Hunter rolled his eyes playfully at Chyna. "I'm the biggest jackass you've ever met. I know. But you still love me." He moved forward to embrace her, but to his disappointment, she backed away, glaring daggers at him.

"Jackass?" Shawn raised his eyebrows. "More like BADass! Hell I'd be prancin' around here like I have the biggest balls in the world if I slept with the boss' daughter!" He burst into laughter and Hunter immediately joined him. "Did he tell you Chyna? Those two buckwild rabbits kept the whole hotel up until 5:00 in the m-" He was cut off by the world's most dangerous glare, his smile fading as he cleared his throat and looked away guiltily, expecting her fist to be down his throat.

"I just want you to know how much you've cost the D-X by doing that, Hunter. God knows what you were thinking." Chyna finally stated with a sigh and soon waved the whole subject off. "Anyway, who's up for blowing up Vince's goddamn limo?"

Shawn and Hunter exchanged glances nervously.

"Um, well," Hunter began. "The complication with that is-"

"We, uh, left the gasoline and matches!" Shawn exclaimed before he could finish. Both men knew Chyna didn't take no for an answer. Excuses usually helped to settle things whenever she was in a murderous mood.

Chyna narrowed her eyes at them. "That's alright. There's plenty of explosives around here. I can easily find-"

"Y'know what?" Hunter reached an arm around her shoulder comfortingly. "How about this? The three of us know Vince isn't after the D-X as a whole. Not anymore atleast. It's me he's extracting his vengeance on. So how about I take care of everything and you just relax. That sound good?" He smiled widely, trying to give her some type of assurance.

Shawn's eyes darted between them several times in anticipation.

After a moment of silence, Chyna sighed and nodded once. "Fine. Drinks tonight boys?"

"Yeah! Sure!" Shawn nodded quickly, his face brightening with the cheekiest smile he could create.

"Let's just get our minds off of this whole thing and relax, okay?" Hunter continued. "Drinks are on me tonight, by the way."

"I'll be waiting for you two in the car. And don't take so long to change this time, Hunter. You're as slow as my fucking grandmother." And with that, Chyna slipped out of Hunter's brotherly embrace and exited the room, her arms swinging by her sides formally. Once the door shut behind her, the duo left in the room looked at each other, seeming to be wearing the same concerned expressions.

"Now, you know you were wrong for that, Shawn." Hunter informed, walking over to a nearby couch where his gym bag lay.

Shawn threw up his arms as if offended. "What I do?" Her widened his eyes.

"The whole 5:00 thing?" Hunter flailed his arms as well, cocking his brows. "You're the one who told me about Chyna's feelings for me. Why would you say something that would urk her? Now she probably is gonna go blow up Vince's limo. Hell, maybe even his office."

"I got a little carried away, man. Gimme a break." Shawn shrugged. "It's not like I can apologize to her about it. She'll figure out that we know and we'll really feel the wrath of her womanhood."

Hunter pulled a white towel from his gym bag and slung it around his neck, looking off into the distance as a sigh escaped his chest. Shawn crooked an eyebrow at him. "I just...can't get my mind off her though." He said. "She has the most amazing rack I've ever seen."

"Woah! Earth to Hunter! She's even more off limits than she was before you two met! Especially for you." Shawn waved his hands in the air like he was signaling something.

"She won't be for long, HBK." Hunter shook his head slowly, his gaze distant as if he were imagining things. "She won't be for long."

...

Dirty Dan's was packed with the worst drunks ever imaginable that night. Hunter, Shawn, and Chyna sat side by side at the bar counter, looking around in awe at how many fights broke out every five minutes. It was something to get used to at that particular bar from what they'd been told by the locals. It was hell on earth, but heaven for whiskey-addicted drunken ass holes.

A few minutes after they had arrived, the bar tender approached them with a rather dry disposition. She was a skinny young girl, appearing to be in her early twenties, dressed in a black tanktop with a faded denim miniskirt. Her jaws worked persistently on a piece of chewing gum as she twirled a lock of her copper red hair around her finger. "What can I get for you all?" She asked in a flat, lifeless tone, her heavily-eyelined eyes moving constantly between the three.

"Get me a shot of whiskey." Chyna spoke up first, leaning forward onto the counter as if to intimidate the girl, but she was unmoving. "In fact...make it a Tequila."

Hunter and Shawn both looked at her nervously, remembering what had happened the last time she had a Tequila. She'd gotten drunk after about ten shots of that shit and had to be escorted out of the bar after nearly killing a few stage dancers because she hated their country voices.

"I'll just go with a Budweiser tonight, ma'am." Shawn looked away from Chyna and smiled politely at the bar tender, recieving a dead stare in return.

"Feels like a Jack Daniels night." Hunter rested one arm on the counter. "One shot." The bar tender turned with an attitude to go fetch the drinks and as soon as she had disappeared, Hunter glanced in Chyna's direction. "Chyna, is everything okay?" He asked over Shawn's shoulders, frowning slightly.

"Everything's fine, Hunter." Chyna responded, not looking back at him. "Why're you asking?"

"Well, you usually order a Tequila when something's bothering you. Y'know, so the buzz can get your mind off whatever it is. You're not still worried about Vince, are you?"

"Of course not." Her tone hardened a bit.

Shawn cringed and looked at Hunter, giving him a warning look. Hunter caught the message and decided to leave well enough alone. But that bothered him as he bore the thought that he could have possibly been the cause of her mood. The bartender returned in less than two minutes, balancing a platter with their drinks on one hand. Hunter, Shawn, and Chyna watched in silence as she set their drinks on the counter before them, then turned to leave once the platter was cleared. By the time Hunter lifted his shot and Shawn lifted his glass mug, Chyna had already downed her Tequila and slammed it down with nearly enough force to shatter the shot glass to pieces. Both men eyed her with raised eyebrows, knowing that couldn't have been a good sign.

"What?" Chyna hissed, firing them dirty looks. "I'll be right back. I have to piss." She slid off her stool and left to find the ladies room while Hunter and Shawn watched her with mouths hanging agape. Once she had disappeared, they looked at each other slowly, their expressions remaining.

"This might be another one of those nights, Trips." Shawn stated warningly. "You should probably go talk to her."

"And say what?" Hunter's arms flared. "None of this is my fault."

"Hunter, you fucked Stephanie just last week. You've known about Chyna's feelings for you for like...months?"

"So what? I can't do anything about it, man."

Shawn slapped his palm to his forehead, looking around the bar to see if anyone had been paying attention to the brief argument. Hunter continued to look at him, sighing deeply. Finding out about Chyna had only made things a little awkward between them and as much as he wanted to feel the same, he just couldn't. His love for her only stopped at friendship and he knew that fact was slowly killing her, but his heart's main focus was on Stephanie. He opened his mouth to make another statement, but stopped, realizing that Shawn was frozen in place, his eyes unmoving. Frowning, Hunter followed his gaze, having to look over his shoulder to see what Shawn was staring at. And no sooner than he had, he froze in place as well.

The wooden doors at the front of the bar parted evenly, the colorful lights from the ceiling instantly casting their dim rays upon a slender figure walking inside. Several men couldn't help but stare as the raven-haired beauty made her way toward the bar with steady, graceful strides. She was dressed in a strapless, black minidress with matching black heels, covered in silver jewelry from her hoop earings to her jingling silver bracelets, to her silver neclace holding a large, diamond heart on its end. She carried a large, black designer purse on her right shoulder, the diamond buckle flashing beneath the blue and green ceiling lights.

It seemed like she was moving in slow motion across Hunter's vision but by the time, he found his bearings, she was passing right by him at the bar counter. For only a second, they locked eyes and he couldn't help but be drawn into her sparkling, ocean blue orbs. Her plush, rosey red lips were slightly parted as she returned his gaze, everything about her flawlessly madeup face seeming to glitter. She broke the gaze herself, turning her head as if he was just another insignificant drunk man thinking of making a move. Hunter, on the other hand, refused to stop staring at her.

"Can somebody say DAMN?" Shawn said hypnotically, feeling around for his beer mug as he was still transfixed on the woman.

"Shawn." Hunter responded quietly, turning his head to look at him. When Shawn didn't respond, he snapped his fingers loudly infront of his face.

"What!" Shawn jumped, snapping out of his transe. "You were thinking the same thing, man!"

"No, Shawn. It's...I know her."

Shawn paused, his expression going from defensive to flat out astonishment. "Oh my gosh. Please tell me you tapped that." He leaned close to Hunter, lowering his voice a little.

Hunter nearly knocked him upside the head. "She's the most hard-to-get girl I've ever met in my entire life. I mean, not that I've tried, 'cause if I did, then she wouldn't resist and well, y'know-"

"Yeah, yeah yeah. How do you know her, though?" Shawn asked.

"High school."

"Was she another groupie?"

"No. She could never be a groupie. She was one of the popular chicks because her parents were rich."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. We were pretty close friends until we graduated and she moved over to New York. Haven't seen her since."

"Damn, man. Are you SURE you didn't tap that?"

"Shawn, focus." Hunter growled. "I have to talk to her."

"What if she doesn't remember you, man?" Shawn asked as Hunter all but leaped from his stool. "And don't forget to introduce me."

"I'll make her remember..." Hunter spotted her across the bar sitting at a booth infront of a large window with an enormous, neon-green skull painted over it. Across from her sat a man with shortcut brown hair, dressed in a simple black-shirt with a pair of jeans. Hunter read the expressions of their faces and they both seemed to be quite serious about what they were discussing. In fact, the woman looked a bit upset. Hunter frowned slightly, walking slowly to give them time to finish the conversation. He watched the woman dig into her purse and pull out what appeared to be a photograph. She slipped it across the table toward the male and he took it up carelessly, studying it. Seconds passed by before he layed the photo back down on the table and shook his head at her. Hunter noticed the way her shoulders sank and her eyes lowered in dismay. The man sighed before he slipped out of the booth and left, walking in Hunter's direction. Hunter looked the man up and down suspiciously, meeting his eyes as he passed by him, recieving a threatening glare in return. Neither man said a word to each other surprisingly. Usually, Hunter would have clotheslined him to the floor and delivered a hell of a beating for staring, but this time, he chose not to start trouble. Especially since there were more important matters before him.

He approached the booth just as the woman was returning the photo to her purse, glancing up a bit startled when she noticed him standing beside her. "Uh, hey. Can I get you a drink, miss?" Hunter asked her, flashing her his sweetest smile.

"That's alright. I was just leaving." She cleared her throat and rose to her feet.

"No, wait." Hunter gently gripped her shoulders, then pulled back at the fierce look she gave him in response. "Are you...Persia Winchester?"

The woman frowned at him, silence hanging between the two for a brief moment before her eyes widened and a look of recognition changed her features. "Hunter?"

**I know the first chapter wasn't all that great, but don't worry. It's all building to something. Feel free to review and yes I made some MAJOR changes to this fic so hopefully you all will enjoy it.**


	2. Chapter 2

"We can't do this. We just can't do this. Not now. Not now." The fear in the young Brood member's voice was evident as he shook his head side to side, long, blonde hair brushing past his bare back and shoulders.

The taller dirty blonde young male standing before him, gently layed a hand on his shoulder, his green eyes piercing the shorter male's. "Christian." He spoke soft-tonedly to calm the frantic brother down. "We have to. There's just no other way it can be done unless you want to die young."

"Edge...if we go to him now...we WILL die young!"

The two Brood members were standing in a long, dark hallway with an arched ceiling like a cathedral. A few candles were lit along the stone walls, providing just barely enough light for them to see their way through. At the end of the hall stood a 12-foot door with strange, demonic symbols carved into its border. It didn't need a DO NOT ENTER sign to keep people away, the spine-tingling, eerie feeling of just being close to it was enough to send trembling tails right back where they came. Christian trembled inwardly as his dark brown eyes were fastened to that door, swallowing down a dry lump in his throat. He couldn't understand why Edge was being so calm about this, as if the news they were about to bring to the entity behind that door was something as simple as talking about the weather.

"Come on, Christian." Edge assured him, backing up toward the door. "We'll be just fine..." The last statement sounded a bit unsure, which wasn't helping Christian's case worth the slightest.

Watching the other man as he turned and continued down the eerie hallway toward the door, Christian eventually followed, his footsteps hesitant as expected. His heart pounded furiously in his chest, faster and faster the closer he got to the door. Why was Edge so far ahead of him, he wondered. Was the brute not concerned about his own well-being? Soon enough, both men were standing before the door and Edge took a deep breath before grabbing the long, cylindric handle and giving it a hesitant pull. Immediately as the door creaked open, a chilling breeze slipped from the opening, creating gooseflesh along both men's arms, but with it came more than just freezing cold air. It was an estranged darkness that'd suddenly slithered into the hallway from the room, causing hair to stand on the backs of their necks. Slowly and quietly, they crept into the room and the first thing they saw was candlelight, hundreds of candles lit on the floor, stacked in the shape of a pentagram. What hovered above the peculiar display was quite normal for them to see. A man hanging lifelessly upon a metal symbol suspended about ten feet off the floor. However, there were no chains or ropes attached to the familiar Ministry of Darkness symbol. It was afloat on its own or perhaps by a mystical power they couldn't see with their own eyes. And standing just below the symbol was the entity that possessed that mystical power, his 6'10 frame draped in a sweeping, black velvet robe which he wore to every sacrificial ceremony. His arms were outstretched on either side of him, lifted to a shallow angle as his head was cocked back to view his worthy sacrifice. The hood of the robe had fallen back from his head, revealing thick wavy locks of jetblack hair that hung almost to his waist and a face made of strong features and angles. Solid white eyes that glowed like the moon were lifted skyward and both blondes realized that his jaw was working.

"Ach'med nacht turan... Dothnen tien tem..." The rumbling deep voice of The Lord of Darkness echoed throughout the room, the demonic language filling Edge and Christian's intrigued ears.

Both men exchanged glances. They knew their leader hated to be interupted during a sacrificial ceremony and several members of the Ministry had been injured for doing so, but the news they had to bring just couldn't wait. It was a big risk they were taking just standing in the room while he was doing this. Not that he didn't allow his henchmen to see his supernatural works, but at times he wanted privacy while he performed sacrifices. Right now it was evident that this was one of those times and his privacy was being intruded.

Christian swallowed, nudging Edge to speak. Edge fired him a harsh glare as if to say, "Why don't you do it," before rolling his eyes and returning to attention to the man speaking in tongues in the center of the room. "Undertaker, sir?" He called, but in a softer voice than he had intended.

"Haba kziet mier anuu...dzior dante' nakura..." The Undertaker continued, Edge's voice not even reaching his ears.

Edge open his mouth to repeat himself, but stopped when he saw that the naked man chained to the floating symbol had begun to jerk and twitch violently as if having a seisure. He wasn't sure if that was something he had seen before, but he quickly forced himself to look away, blinking several times. "Taker...can we...have a moment?" He spoke again, a bit louder this time.

In response, the Undertaker's voice only grew louder and his sacrificial puppet spasmed harder under the sound of his voice, the air growing thicker with a demonic presence. "Dothne! Nachtura! Mien te! Belial, Belial, Belial!"

Finally Christian took a step forward and after taking a deep, shuddering breath, "Taker! We need to talk to you!" His voice seemed to shatter all other sounds and immediately after, The Undertaker snapped out of his spiritual transe. The moment his solid white eyes returned to their normal acid green, the symbol dropped from the air, crashing loudly to the floor. Blood spattered across the floor as the helpless man upon the large, metal object was crushed beneath it and the flames on each candle erupted upward with an explosive roar, returning to their normal flicker a second later. Edge grabbed Christian by the arm and pulled him back just as the large door behind them swung shut with a bang that echoed on for what seemed like forever. Both men stared uncomfortably at the Undertaker as his head slowly turned and deathly-cold acid green eyes fell on them. A low, feral growl rumbled in his throat before his arms slowly fell by his sides. "How...many times," He spoke in a low, threatening tone. "Do I have to tell you two ingred sons of bitches NOT TO BARGE!" The flames erupted again, causing Edge and Christian to flinch against their brightness.

"We're so sorry. But we have something important we need to tell you." Edge informed him, backing as far away from the fire as he could, still clutching Christian's arm.

"WHAT?" The Lord of Darkness roared angrily.

Edge and Christian looked at each other before sighing at the same time. Running a hand through his long, dirty blonde hair, Edge opened his mouth with hesitation and looked the Deadman in the eye, the words almost stuck to his tongue, unable to come out. "Taker, after me and Christian got done polishing those caskets like you told us to, um, we heard this noise. Like...someone screaming."

Taker arched an eyebrow at him, his head tilting. "And?"

"All of us rushed around the house to see what'd happened and while we were looking...me and Christian found that parlor Paul was putting together and um..." He stopped and scratched the back of his neck where he felt moisture along his skin.

"Edge, I don't have all goddamn night." Taker impatiently gestured for the boy to continue.

"Okay. Okay. Here it is." Edge cleared his throat. "We found Paul in the parlor...he was sprawled out on the floor with his clothes torn and soaked in blood and...his eyes were gone. So Faarooq and Bradshaw-" He stopped midsentence when he noticed Taker's expression change from impatience to pure astonishment, then distorting into something animalistic. He swallowed hard. "Taker, we think-" He couldn't even get the rest out before Taker stormed past him and Christian, all but breaking through the door with a black cloud of pure rage hovering after him.

...

The members of the Ministry -Faarooq, Bradshaw, Mideon, Viscera, and Gangrel- were gathered inside the parlor, all eyes wandering about the destruction in awe. There were windows shattered, a thousand shards of deadly, bloodstained glass littering the wooden floor. Blood dripped down the moldy green walls in randomly-located splotch patterns and several decorative tables had been overturned if not broken to pieces, thrown all over the room where they didn't belong. In the middle of the room, a large casket made of waxed redwood lay flipped open upside down, covered in deep scratches, blood and grotesque burn marks as if someone had tried to cut it to pieces and then set it on fire. What lay beneath the casket, however, was what was the most disturbing. It was Paul Bearer sprawled facedown in a pool of his own blood, empty eye sockets pouring blood down his pale, gellatin face. He was motionless beneath the weight of the casket, but alive. Barely. Very faint groans and grunts could be heard from his behind his lips which had been busted open and swollen blue. His usual formal attire had been stripped almost completely off of him and on his skin, the surrounding group could see several grotesque 3rd degree burns and deep gashes, blood soaking him from head to toe. He looked absolutely horrific, apparently he'd ben defenseless against whatever had broken in and attacked him.

"My fucking God..." Gangrel shook his head in pity, his mind reeling from the very sight he was beholding. Beside him, a much larger Viscera walked over to one of the shattered windows and looked outside, his glowing, silvery eyes spotting nothing but trees swaying in the wind and the black sky above, not even a single sign of life within. When he turned to face the others, they were all looking at him for answers, but sadly, he had none. "The fuck did this?"

"If we knew we wouldn't be standin' here." Faarooq barked, shaking his head and folding his arms. "The big man's gonna throw a goddamn-"

The parlor door suddenly flew open with a bang, nearly breaking from its hinges as an angry black mass stormed in, anger flashing in its shadowy eyes. The very second The Undertaker saw Paul, his entire body went ramrod stiff and his right eye twitched slightly. Edge and Christian entered a second after him and quickly put distance between themselves and the furious darklord. For a moment, the room was completely silent and Taker could hardly believe what he was seeing. He had a hard time taking it all in, the destruction of the room, the current condition of his conscience, trying to decide whether or not this was real or if he was trapped in an awful nightmare. But it was real. In fact, the reality of it struck him so hard that, soon after he came out of his state of shock, he rushed forward and with mighty hands, lifted the casket off of Paul's motionless body and threw it across the room as if it weighed nothing but a few ounces. The members of the Ministry cringed a little as the large piece of woodwork struck the wall with a deafening crash and shattered to large pieces, nearly ending up outside. Taker fell to his knees beside Paul's body, rolling him over gently. The battered, half-dead man groaned in pain as he felt his weight shift onto the largest of his wounds which were located on his back. There was so much blood, Taker found himself nearly gagging at the awful stench, the horribly burned skin making things no better. He was almost frantic as he looked over what'd been done to Paul, holding both sides of the man's bloody, dirt-encrusted face between his cold, massive hands. "Paul..." He said in a voice trembling in anger. "Tell me who did this to you."

Paul couldn't answer. In fact, he hadn't even heard the Undertaker. He was so far gone and without his eyes to atleast tell him where he was, his mind was practically an empty, black cave. Taker clenched his teeth when he realized Paul couldn't answer him, struggling to keep himself calm. It was impossible. Absolutely impossible to hold down the anger and pure rage building inside him, spreading throughout every muscle and fiber of his body like a wild fire. "WHO FUCKING DID THIS TO HIM?" He suddenly exploded, standing abruptly, appearing as though he'd grown larger, but he was only swelling with a monstrous fury.

"We don't know, Taker." Bradshaw quickly spoke up, holding his hands up defensively. "We swear it, man."

"One of you has to know something! SOMETHING!" Taker had anger seething from his pores. "You mean to tell me none of you saw what the fuck happened here?"

"No." All of them answered at once, then Mideon, one of Taker's favorites, stepped forward, his eyes weary. He was hurt to see his master like this. "By the time we got here after hearing all the noise and screaming, Paul was alone in here...like how we see him now."

"Goddamnit!" Taker spun around violently and massaged his forehead with his fingers, resting his other hand on his hip.

"If it helps, Taker, we can search the room for evidence for you." Gangrel suggested after swallowing down a dry lump. "The attacker could've left some traces behind."

"If I may say so myself," Edge chimed in. "I think Kane did this. No...I'm SURE Kane did this."

Taker's head snapped in his direction. But before he could reply, Viscera did for him. "How the fuck do you know?" His voice was quiet but sturdy enough to cause all eyes to turn to him. "Kane couldn't have come in through the front or else we all would've seen him. And I'm sure as hell his overgrown ass can't fit through these fucking windows."

"You'd be surprised what he can do." Taker released a deep breath, still trying to collect his broken pieces of professional composure.

"Wait." Gangrel raised his voice a bit and when Taker looked over his shoulder at him, he felt himself shrink under that deathly glare. "I'm not trying to defend Kane or anything but last time I checked, he's supposed to be in a looney bin. From what I hear, he's gaurded so heavy he can't even take a piss without atleast ten gaurds surrounding his ass."

"Okay and?" Faarooq shot him a mean look. "That mother fucker's the son of the devil. You don't think he can bust out a damn asylum?"

"We'd be the first ones to hear about it if he did." Bradshaw chimed in. "Or his brother atleast."

Taker turned to face them, a bit aggravated by their constant chatter. None of them even asked to speak, but he figured it was fine seeing as though everyone was riled up by this situation. His own mind was beginning to fill with question now. If Kane really did attack Paul, how could he have gotten in undetected? Kane was known for making big entrances and didn't care for being stealthy. Especially with the hatred that he had for his brother, Kane was the type of sick man who would come straight out with the confession if he attacked Paul. And if not that, there would be plenty of evidence.

"Everyone, look." Edge said, walking up to Paul and pointing to the burn marks on his skin. "Does this look familiar to anyone? Hanh, anyone?" His eyes were wide now. "Only Kane could leave scars like this. HE DID THIS!"

Taker simply folded his arms and lowered his eyes, tuning the group out as he thought to himself. The burn marks seemed like enough to point to the Big Red Machine, but for some reason, he just wasn't sure. He could feel it. Someone else had been in the room to attack Paul.

"We should hunt the bitch down and burn him on a stake." Edge growled, looking around the room.

Everyone nodded except for Gangrel who was steadfast with his opinion. "Edge, listen. Despite the burn marks on Paul's skin, of all the times Kane's attacked someone, has he ever gouged out someone's eyes? How many victims have you found with missing eyes?"

Edge paused to look at him, sudden realization coming to him. "But what if he just lost control and-"

"That's his father right there, Edge!" Gangrel shouted, alerting the others.

"SILENCE! ALL OF YOU!" Taker's voice suddenly boomed, seeming to shake the very walls of the room. Everyone froze at the sound of his voice. "Only way to find out if Kane really did this, is to bring the bastard here himself and make him admit it! Faarooq. Bradshaw. Go find Kane. Viscera, Mideon, get Paul to bed. Gangrel, Christian, Edge, search this room for more evidence while everyone else is out."

"But, if we know its Kane-" Edge started, but Taker raised his hand to stop him, replying simply, "We don't know if its Kane."

Everyone filed out of the room as told, except for the Brood who weren't too happy with their assignment. Viscera and Mideon carefully heaved Paul's broken, bloodied body out of the room and around the corner to the nearest bed while The Acolytes left the house and went on their search for Kane. The Undertaker had left, as well. Perhaps to return to his sacrificial chamber or speak with his Higher Power. Edge was the most aggravated out of the three. His stubborn ego just wouldn't allow him to believe that someone else had been here to destroy Paul Bearer except for Kane. His name had been practically written all over the parlor. He couldn't help but wonder why The Undertaker was having other thoughts. The Brood searched just about every inch of the floor, rummaged through broken furniture, and even scraped some blood from the walls to find any marks or such. It seemed like there was nothing significant in terms of evidence in the room. Nothing worth labeling as suspicious. Nothing that would draw the eye as peculiar or outstanding. After about an hour of searching, the brothers grew hopeless and exhausted. While resting against the wall in the back of the room, Edge still refused to give up his claim. "Its hopeless to say someone else was here. You guys know it was Kane, right?"

Gangrel simply ignored him and Christian released a deep sigh. Edge was one to keep things going when he didn't get his way...which was quite often. "Let's just tell Taker we didn't find anything and move on, okay?" He replied irritantly.

"He'll be mad though. Especially since he's so worked up. His conscience was just attacked and if Kane really is innocent behind all this, there will be no clues as to who could have done it. Unless..." Gangrel perked up suddenly, looking between the two blondes leaning against the wall on either side of him. There was suspicion written on his face and soon the other two wore the same. "Unless it was someone in the Ministry..."

Edge rolled his eyes. "Now, why the hell would anyone of us even _dare _assault Paul like this, knowing that we'd end up tortured and killed by that oversized demon we work for?" He said sarcastically. "You'd have to be really fucking suicidal to do something like that."

Christian had just opened his mouth to add another statement when something suddenly caught his eye just a few feet past Edge. A frown creased his sweat-slick forehead and he immediately moved toward the object that caused him to stop. Gangrel and Edge watched him with questioning expressions as he approached the shattered remains of the casket that'd been capsized over Paul's body and knelt down over it, beginning to dig around in the jagged wood with his hands. He shifted and tossed the wood persistently, his hands moving fast like an animal digging for food. He heard someone ask him what he was doing, but was too concentrated to recognize who's voice it was. Instead, he said, "Dear God...guys."

Edge and Gangrel were on either side of him faster than he could say hop-skotch, bent over to see what he'd called them for. Christian slid one more plank of wood across the floor, revealing a small, oblong object that shimmered despite the dark, greenish lighting of the room. All eyes widened as Christian gathered it into his palm and held it up close to his face. It was a small, golden Victorian-style locket hanging from a long, golden chain. On the inside of the locket was a picture of a man with matured features and short, salt-and-pepper hair. The smile within his evenly-cut black goatee sparkled with pure joy and wearing almost the exact same smile beside him was the source of his joy. A young girl who appeared to be no older than 10 years of age with long, dark hair braided into two pigtails hanging down her shoulders. Besides the glimmer in her pearly-white smile, her most drawing feature were her eyes, which were a rich, oceanic blue.

"So...Kane, hanh?" Gangrel raised an eyebrow at Edge only to get a harsh glare in return.

He didn't respond.


	3. Chapter 3

"It's been so long." Hunter smiled warmly at Persia as he took a seat across from her, then rested his arms comfortably on the table seperating them.

"Truely." Persia beamed at him and he thought he'd never seen a more beautiful smile. She'd changed a lot since the last time he'd seen her. The Persia Winchester he remembered from high school was addicted to tanning, coloring her hair all sorts of bizarre colors, face piercings and punkrock clubs. She usually hung out with the jocks and was always wanted among the most popular of cliques. Before him sat a completely different Persia. She was no longer smacking gum in his face or wearing neon-green lipstick, but had apparently blossomed into womanhood. Everything from her fashion to her beautiful features had changed for the better. Judging by what he was seeing, Hunter would even admit that she was perfect. Perfect from her high cheekbones and sparkling eyes that reminded him of the ocean, to the hourglass curves of her body that just begged for attention. He almost had a hard time looking at her for fear of getting lost in her sweet gaze. Something about the way she looked him in the eyes was both professional and heart-warming. Looking into those eyes was like walking back down memory lane.

"I've seen you on television quite often." Persia spoke quietly."When I first heard that you wanted to be a wrestler, I didn't expect you to be that good."

Hunter shrugged. "That makes the two of us. But, you know me. I'm not settling for a lower pedestal than I deserve."

Persia nodded and her eyes wandered his physique as if she were just now noticing it. She looked a bit surprised. "Wow. And you've certainly changed a lot. What happened to that skinny, little blonde brat you used to be."

"Oh, the whole bullying thing gets tiring after a while. Too bad it wasn't enough to get even _your _attention." Hunter laughed.

Persia rolled her eyes playfully and fanned at him with her hand. "My whole crew was bullies-gallore. You were on the bottom of their foodchain, actually." She stated matter-of-factly.

In the distance, Shawn wasn't sure if he'd ever seen Hunter so excited to see someone. Not even his bestfriends had gotten such a reaction from The Game, but at the time, it wasn't something they'd noticed right off the bat. He was silent as he watched the two chat it up by the scary-looking window, curious to know what they were talking about. Too bad he couldn't hear them above the loud rock music playing from the stage to the right of the bar, let alone the distance.

"Where's Hunter?" Chyna returned suddenly, sliding back onto her bar stool after noticing that one of her boys were missing.

When Shawn turned his head to look at her, the first thing he noticed other than the frown on her face, were her bloodshot eyes. She looked a bit tired and he realized that she had been gone for quite a while. "Oh, he's talking with someone." Shawn replied with a few blinks, glancing back at Hunter and his friend, then returning his attention to Chyna. "Are you alright, you were gone for a good minute. Today's lunch didn't get you too bad, did it?" He raised his brows and playfully nudged her.

"I'm fine, Shawn." Chyna wrinkled her nose in disturbance at the thought of lunch. Hunter forced them both to eat his hand-cooked burritos and let's just say she thought she would've had to drink a gallon of Holy Water to get rid of the sickness she felt afterwards. "And who's he talking to? Don't tell me one of our annoying co-workers are here."

"Oh, no. A friend of his from high school just came and I guess they're doing some catching up right now." Shawn informed, checking on them again. They were both laughing with each other like children in a play pen. "She is amazingly _hot."_

Chyna frowned at him, then looked past him at Hunter's booth halfway across the bar. When she saw how pretty the woman sitting across from him was, he lips tightened and her eyes narrowed slightly. "What's her name?" She asked.

Shawn just stared at her for a moment, recognizing that slight hint of jealousy in her voice. "He didn't tell me her name, but I'm sure you can go over and ask." He shrugged with a smug grin. He couldn't tell if he'd told her that because he felt like instigating or just wanted to see Chyna's estrigen awaken that night.

Hunter's eyes just momentarily wandered back to the bar where he spotted Shawn and Chyna watching him, Chyna wearing a suspicious glare on her face as he would have expected. He cleared his throat and tried to wipe away some of his oddly-enormous smile before returning his attention to Persia. She hadn't even noticed. "So," He shifted in his seat. "How are things going for you? What are you into now?"

"Oh, I'm a psychiatrist." Persia nodded once, tilting her head. "Which I'm pretty sure the majority of you wrestlers need more than the steroids."

Hunter laughed. "I agree. But not everyone's gonna admit that. How's the job going for you, anyway? I could've sworn you wanted to be a Hollywood actress when you were younger."

"Right. And what were the chances of that dream actually coming true?" She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Not that I don't have the talent."

"Maybe you should perform a show for me sometime." Hunter suggested humorously. "And no...that wasn't an invitation to my place."

"Oh, I wouldn't mind." Pinning a lock of hair behind her ear. "I could use someone to hang out with and show me around while I'm down here anyway."

"This your vacation?"

"No. Actually I'm here on business."

"Oh?" Hunter raised his brows as if impressed. "What kinda business? Or am I digging too deep?"

"Um..."Persia paused, looking down for a second. Hunter noticed how her expression faded slightly and straightened in his seat, hoping he hadn't offended her or made her feel like he was just another snooper. "It's alright, actually." She cleared her throat and looked back up at him, laying her hands on her lap. She was no longer smiling. "Now that you've asked, you might be able to help me with something."

Hunter frowned and before he could ask, she dug into her purse and pulled out the same picture she'd showed the guy who was previously talking to her. Fiddling with it in her hand for a moment, she looked Hunter in the eye and the aura around them grew serious in that instant.

"Is everything alright?" Hunter intrigued, frowning with concern.

Persia slid the picture across the table gently and allowed him to take it from her, his eyes slightly narrowing when he lifted it and observed what was on it. The picture was rather interesting. A bright light shinning on a white wall, perhaps from the camera the picture had been taken with, and upon the white wall was an image drawn in red ink. It was a large pyramid, each line and angle perfectly straight as if created by a professional artist. On the inside of the pyramid was a large eye that seemed to bore a hole in Hunter's skull just from looking into it. And drawn just a centimeter away from the points of the pyramid were strange symbols and markings one would find in a book of witchcraft. Hunter stared at the picture a moment longer and as he observed more detail, he realized that the symbol had been drawn in blood, not ink, and that streams of the blood were running down the wall from the sides and bottom of the symbol. "So-"

"It's some kind of cult symbol. A friend of mine back in New York told me it belonged to a Satanic cult somewhere in Texas."

"Um, I didn't know you were interested in this kinda stuff." Hunter said wearily, laying the picture back down on the table. "Where'd you take this anyway?"

"My house." Persia answered a bit hesitantly and with a flat tone.

Hunter lifted his eyes in time to see her eyeing him austerely. She'd grown even more serious. "I don't get it. Is someone after you?"

"No, Hunter. Allow me to explain. Two weeks ago, my house was broken into while I was at my office with a patient. I didn't find out until I came home that night and found the wreckage myself. I was about to call the police when I noticed a trail of blood leading to the bathroom. Come to find out there was a corpse in my bathtub, neck-deep in its own blood." She paused to take a breath.

Hunter leaned forward. "You don't have to go any further with the story if you don't want. But I can help you however I can as long as my work schedule allows it. Just tell me what it is you need me to do."

Persia swallowed and she was back to the all-business disposition. "I'm fine." She held up her hand. "I eventually called the cops who came rather late and after they searched the house for days, they reported to me that they couldn't find any clues as to who had broken into my house and left the wreckage and the dead body. I thought it was impossible for the culprit to be untraceable so I decided to investigate for myself. One of the crime scene investigators left a manila folder in the living room while he went to discuss something with one of his team members. I went in the folder and found that picture. Decided to keep it and use to help me find out who had done the crime. A friend of mine who I showed it to told me that it was a symbol of a dangerous cult here in Texas. So that's why I'm here to find that cult."

"Geez. Why would a cult raid your house and then drop off a dead body to make matters worse for you?"

"They didn't drop it off..."Persia lowered her voice and her eyes were cast downward again.

Hunter stared at her, frowning curiously. They were both silent for a moment, before Persia looked outside of the window and stated almost in a pained whisper, "The reason why I want to find out who these Satanic bastards are is because...that corpse I found...was my father."

...

"Alright, so maybe I'm a bit off with my accusations." Edge stated with a shrug, his tone hinting aggravation.

Christian slanted his eyes toward him, clutching the golden locket in his hand as he stood below the parlor's doorway. "No time for another argument. Taker needs to see this before he orders the Acolytes to hang Kane by his bloody intestines." He gestured for Edge and Gangrel to come with him out into the hallway where the Minister of Darkness had been just minutes ago.

Just as the rest of the Brood exited the room behind Christian, Viscera and Mideon were making their way back from Paul's bed chamber, wearing looks of disdain on their faces. Both men had several bloodstains running down their leather clothing from Paul's body, which upon seeing the stains, Christian's nose wrinkled in both disgust and anxiety.

"Found anything interesting?" Viscera asked, raising his brows as he halted before the Brood.

"No, not really. Just some locket." Edge answered with a huff of impatient breath, folding his arms as he also halted before the giant Viscera, looking him up and down to examine the filth he'd acquired on his clothing.

"A locket?" Mideon inquired next, frowning slightly.

"It's right here if you want to see." Christian stated, handing the shimmering, golden object in Mideon's direction, but before the obviously curious man could even touch it with his fingertips, he was suddenly shoved aside by a massive arm covered in black art. Viscera glanced down just in time to see the Deadman gliding between him and Mideon, immediately moving himself to avoid forceful contact or a deathly scowl.

The sudden appearance of The Undertaker caused silence among the gathering and Christian swallowed as his massive hand confiscated the locket before he could even register what had happened. By now, he thought he would have been used to Taker's silent movement and appearances, but apparently it was just too inhuman for his understanding.

"Where did you find this?" His deep voice rumbled lowly as he cast his acid green eyes down upon the locket, examining it closely.

"I found it while I was digging around the pieces of the casket you threw, Taker sir." Christian answered, lowering his voice as well. "We figured it was a clue as to who our culprit is here."

Taker flipped the glistening object over in his palm, then clicked it open with his thumb, furrowing his brows when he saw the picture on the inside. It was silent again. All eyes watched as the Minister studied...and studied...and studied...until they all noticed that he seemed dazed. Lost in thought perhaps.

...

_"Freeze, boy!" The deep, commanding voice rang throughout the lobby of the funeral home as a suddenly frozen redheaded boy stood beside the receptionist's desk, his eyes wide. Heavy footsteps were heard as a man standing nearly seven feet tall approached slowly, dressed in a white button-up with a pair of dirt-stained jeans. His dark hair sat unruly upon his large head and his skin was slick with sweat, evidence of his previous activity digging graves several miles from the funeral home. The young, redheaded boy glanced up into the piercing, dark eyes of the tall man, a dry lump forming in his throat as the man got a powerful grip on his wrist. His small hand had been closed until the man gave a slight squeeze and his pale fingers came right open. The man made a quiet tsking sound as he glanced down at what the boy had been holding in his hand, a small, shinning locket with a silvery exterior. It was empty except for a tiny scratch on the inside where a picture should have been._

_"Where'd ya get this, boy?" The man asked the boy, giving him a hard look. "You still stealin' from the school kids?"_

_The redhead quickly shook his head. "No, Dad. I found it myself."_

_"Where?"_

_"The graveyard? It was hanging from the old gate waitin' for birds to come snatch it so I snatched it before them crows could, Dad."_

_"Then you ain't no better than the birds, little one." The tall man chuckled, now crouching down to the boy's height. "Tell ya what, how's about you take that thing to town and see if you can sell it for some of those shiny, gold dollar coins ya like."_

_The redhead gasped. "But, Dad, I don't wanna sell it. I wanna keep it. I ain't never seen nothin' like it."_

_"Boy, that thing's for women. You ain't gonna wear a damn locket 'round that neck of yours."_

_"Yes I am! I found it, so it's mine!"_

_"No it ain't. Someone left it behind. If you were a good boy, you'd go find out who it really belongs to."_

_"But what about sellin' it, Dad?"_

_"Don't ask me foolish questions, now get!" With that, the man rose to his full height and gave his son a light shove on the back toward the front door where he'd just raced in from. In obedience, the boy hurried outside, but only to find his favorite spot beneath a dying willow. He sat beneath the eerie branches of the willow, clutching the locket in hand, admiring the way the gray daylight glinted off its silver surface. _

_..._

Taker blinked once, his eyes lifting up from the locket as if he'd just come out of a dream. His minions were still in silence around him, curious of his sudden phasing out. "You'll have your reward soon, Christian." He spoke atlast, hearing breaths of relief. "When Faarooq and Bradshaw bring Kane here, I want him sealed up so tight in that damn dungeon he won't be able to move his eyeballs. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir." All four men answered in response and scattered.

All except for Christian who waited by to speak with his leader. "Taker?"

"What is it?" Taker answered as he turned to leave, still turning the locket over in his hand, pondering.

"What exactly are you going to do with that? I mean, maybe if I help you out, you can figure out who those people are in the picture much faster than you would by yourself."

Taker stopped midstride to look back at him, his eyes cold and piercing. "Boy, you haven't seen all I can do. I suggest you be ready when Kane gets here. If anything happens because the others were a man short, I'll have your ass faster than you can scream."

Christian nodded nervously and began backing away, watching as Taker continued.


	4. Chapter 4

Sunday Night Heat had been disastrous as usual. Hunter and Shawn were literally thanking the heavens that it was over as they limped backstage of the arena in search of their locker room. Just moments ago, they were defending themselves against The Rock and one of the most mentally insane bastards on the entire roster, Mankind, both men wielding two-by-four equalizers that could have caused some serious, serious damage if the Degenerates hadn't gotten lucky. It was no official match. In fact, Vince McMahon had arranged for the two to fight the Acolytes, one of the most powerful tagteams in the Federation. And to the surprise of them all, the Acolytes had never showed up. Instead, out came The Rock and Mankind like two warriors with their deadly weapons of mass destruction (big ass planks of wood), marching toward their long-time enemies with malice.

Hunter suspected that Vince had all of this planned in response to Hunter's affair with his daughter, but still refused to be humbled at any cost.

"We don't get paid enough for this shit, man." Shawn groaned, rubbing his sore lower back.

"I think my spleen's busted open." Hunter replied in a grumble, hand rested on his aching side. He lifted a hand and touched his fingertips to his temple, pulling them back only to see crimson moistening his skin along with his own sweat. The Rock had gotten him good over the head with the wooden stick of death. So good that he literally saw stars dancing in his eyes instead of naked women. Blood ran down the entire right side of his face, tiny droplets landing on his shoulder now and again. "Damn, they busted more than my spleen apparently." He sighed.

"As soon as we get back to the locker room, we're gonna need Chyna to call the damn limo ASAP."

When they atlast reached their locker rooms, they immediately stripped out of their ring gear and showered, scrubbing away splinters, sweat, blood, and odor.

Just as Hunter got out of the shower and wrapped a white towel around his waist, he heard his cellphone ring from inside his gym bag. "Ah, hell. Who's calling me this close to midnight?" He complained, grabbing the bag from a locker and setting it down on a chair to search for his cell.

"Could be someone important." Shawn suggested after exiting the shower himself, a custom-made DX towel wrapped around his own, slim waist. "Like...I dunno...Stephanie."

"I doubt it." Hunter shrugged, finding the phone and pulling it out of the bag. Pressing the answer button, he put the device to his ear and spoke, "Hello? Hunter Hearst Helmsley here. How may I help you?"

A very familiar, female reply came in response. "Hunter, its Persia."

Hunter's eyes went wide as he fired Shawn an astonished look mixed with excitement. "Oh, hi Persia. I totally forgot I gave you my number at the bar. Look, about those seats you requested...turns out some family of fat ass stoners had the highest bid."

"It's alright. I found better seats for cheaper. But that's not why I'm calling. Listen, you're still willing to help me out with my cult problem, right?"

"Yes, of course. Anything for an old friend."

"Well, I need you to meet me someplace tonight. If you don't mind, that is."

"Uh..." Hunter nearly sighed, but held the breath in as best he could. He was battered and exhausted, yearning for bed rest and now this had come up. Perfect. "Sure. Um, where do you wanna meet up?" He asked, massaging the bridge of his nose between two fingers.

"There's an old cemetery a couple of miles away from the the arena. I just got here. Left the show atleast thirty minutes early. I hope you're not scared to visit a graveyard at night."

"Oh, its no problem. I'll be there as soon as possible."

"Thank you so much, Hunter. Aren't I glad I found you in Texas."

"Like I said before, anything for an old friend. So see you then?"

"Don't keep me waiting too long, Hunter."

Hunter chuckled a bit. "Bye, Persia." And with that, he hung up the phone and tossed it back into his gym bag. "And my night doesn't end." He released a deep sigh, shaking his head slowly.

"What happened?" Shawn asked, pulling a pair of jeans out of his locker along with a black T-shirt. "I heard you say Persia like twice."

Hunter searched for his own clothes as quickly as he could, which wasn't very quick at all since he was so tired. "She wants me to meet her somewhere. Got business to discuss."

"Oh?" Shawn grinned, raising his brows at Hunter. "And I wonder what kind of business that is." His voice was rather sing-songish.

Hunter gave Shawn a sardonic look. "Calm down, Shawn. Nothing's going on between us. It's just that...she told me some things at the bar and well, I have to help her with this one problem."

"Oh, I see. You're her Superman and she's your damsel in distress."

"Uh...sure."

Shawn shook his head, laughing quietly. "Hunter, I gotta say, some things about you just never change. You already got three women clinging to you like the fish that cling to the inside of a tank."

"Leave it to Shawn to have the funniest misconceptions." Hunter laughed in turn. "Atleast Persia and I know we're just acquaintances for now."

"For now?" Shawn exclaimed. "Hunter I'm apalled!"

"I'm pretty sure some guy up in New York is tapping that ass already, Shawn."

"I doubt it." Shawn replied mockingly. "And if you don't do it...I will."

"Pfft. Yeah, sure."

After both men were dressed and ready to go, they slung their bags over their shoulders and left. Chyna was already outside with the limo, where she was told about Hunter's plans for the remainder of the night. Of course, she was not too happy to hear about them, but wouldn't voice her thoughts or opinions. All she said was, "This is your business. Not mine."

…...

In the quiet confines of a cold, dimly-lit room, all white walls surrounded a lone figure standing in its very center. The figure was amazingly tall, just about every inch of its body built entirely of muscle. One milky blue eye and one deep green stared straight ahead at absolutely nothing as it seemed to be completely frozen, lost in time, lost in space, lost in some place unknown to man. Curly brown strands of moist hair hung down past its broad shoulders, surrounding its face which was hidden behind a most frightening mask. A mask that earned him the name 'monster.' That was what it truly was...a monster. Eversince the day it was created to walk upon the earth. It believed its soul purpose was to destroy, take lives, and suffer the pain of its own existence. A being born of fire and brimstone, possessing the power of Hell itself, it was highly feared by the others of the World Wrestling Federation. They called him the Devil's favorite demon, something completely alien, but somewhere deep within its fiery core, a small percentage of it was human. This monster, this man, found himself searching daily for that human side of him, but failing each time to find it. With no hope in his heart that he would ever be something normal, something people didn't run away and hide from, he was vicious, angry, and sick in the head.

Much like his older brother...that dreaded Demon of Death Valley.

As the monstrosity known as Kane, dwelled in his own privacy, he began to feel as though he was no longer alone. No longer safe in his own space. The burning, sandy skin upon its enormous form began to crawl with unease, a warning perhaps. His eyes, once blank and aimless, now narrowed within black holes as a sense of alert swept over him and just as he had caught on to what his conscience was implying, a sudden sound exploded from behind him. Instantly, he whirled on his large, booted feet, coming upon the realization that the door to the empty room had been broken open and two men were rushing in, coming at him from either side. He braced himself, taking a step back to size both men with his multi-colored eyes. They didn't appear to have too much confidence about being in the same room as the Big Red Machine and he figured he would perhaps use that to his advantage.

"Alright, ya big red bastard. Let's not make this too difficult." Said the first man in a heavy country accent whom Kane instantly recognized as Bradshaw, a member of the Ministry of Darkness.

"Fuck that!" Shouted the other male known as Faarooq, a member of the Ministry as well. "We're gonna make this bitch bleed from the inside out!"

Kane was rather confused in the back of his mind, but kept his bulked demeanor, hoping to intimidate the two. They no longer appeared to be weary, especially not Faarooq. He charged him before any more words were said, ramming himself directly into Kane's midsection. Kane's feet immediately came from under him and he reached forward as he went down, a low grunt residing in his throat once his back hit the floor. The next thing he knew, heavy dark fists were raining down upon him, but only three hits managed to connect before he threw his massive hands upward and sent Faarooq sailing backwards. Bradshaw made his move next, stomping the giant in the shin and was satisfied to hear a monstrous cry in response. Bradshaw then attempted an elbow drop to Kane's chest but missed after the big man had rolled out of the way. He sprang up like a beast out of hell, grabbing Bradshaw's ankle and snatching him off balance. The smaller man hit the floor hard, Kane's hands soon wrapped around his throat, stopping his breath dead in his chest. It was no surprise that Faarooq came running to his defense soon after, landing a blow directly across Kane's jaw, sending him keeling sideways. He landed on his shoulder, a bit dazed, then glanced up just in time to see Faarooq coming after him again. This time, he swept his leg right under the man, knocking him over like his partner in crime. Once Faarooq was down, Kane staggered to his feet and made his way to the door, shaking his head a bit to get rid of the dizziness he'd received from Faarooq's powerful fist. He knew exactly what he needed to find...fire.

By the time he got out in the dimly-lit hallway, the Acolytes were back on their feet, pursuing him like cops after a criminal, an enormous, dangerous criminal. He hadn't seen Bradshaw pick up a long, steel pipe off the floor and run up behind him with it, cracking it against his skull so hard it sent him stumbling forward. Just as he was about to fall, Faarooq wielded a long, thick chain that'd been wrapped around his waist and leaped forward, landing on Kane's back. Usually in this position, he would have done a sleeper hold, but instead secured the chain around the giant's wide neck, squeezing with all his might. He could hear throaty, strangled noises coming from the monster much to his satisfaction.

"Damnit, I forgot the Chloroform!" Bradshaw suddenly blurted, swinging the pipe at Kane's calve. He cried out and spun around, throwing himself backwards into a wall to sandwich Faarooq between two objects hard objects.

"You dumbass!" He coughed as the wind was knocked out of him. "We'll just have to make use of what we have."

Kane frowned behind his mask, rammed Faarooq into the brick wall again, hearing another cough in reponse. It always bothered him when people spoke of him as if he couldn't understand English or was deaf. It was insulting. The second he sandwiched Faarooq for the third time, Bradshaw ran right in front of him and swung the pipe at his left leg. It struck the side of his knee, the momentum of the swing plus the mass of the object created a loud cracking sound and all Kane felt was excruciating pain before he uncontrollably sunk to the floor. The bone in his leg had been broken from the side of his knee like a broomstick and he was soon hollering and roaring in agony. Faarooq kept the chain around his neck while he rolled and writhed on the floor, finding it difficult to keep the enormous, heavy beast still. It was like every muscle in his body was responding to the pain in violent spasms.

"Knock his ass out!" Faarooq shouted, obviously struggling to keep himself from being thrown by the strength of Kane.

"Alright! Alright, ya whiner!" Bradshaw shouted back, pulling the pipe back behind his head.

Kane saw another blow coming and threw his right hand into the air. Both Acolytes were confused by this action until they heard a crashing sound from above and looked up in time to see the foil pipes curling along the ceiling now engulfed in flames, falling toward them swiftly.

"Shit!" Bradshaw grunted, diving sideways out of the way just before a flaming pipe came crashing down where he stood only inches away from Kane's feet. Faarooq could only think to jump out of the way, jerking Kane violently with him. He swung a massive arm backwards to grab Faarooq's leg, but cried out when he felt a booted foot nearly shatter every bone in his hand.

"Don't fucking touch me, you dirty bastard!" Faarooq spat, crossing his wrists to tighten the chain around Kane's neck. He was surprised he'd lasted this long without oxygen. "Come on, fuckwit!" He then shouted to Bradshaw who was staring in shock at the exhibition of Kane's power. "Get your ass over here and knock him out!"

"So he can do some crazy shit like that again!" Bradshaw protested angrily, spit flying from his lips. "_You _do it!"

"You fucking pussy!" Faarooq barked viciously, dropping down on one knee and bending his upper body backwards, pulling on the chain with all the strength he could muster. "Just get over here and knock his fucking head off!" 

"Fine, damnit! You're such a fuckin' nagger!"

"I'm a what? What the hell did you just call me!"

"Nagger! Nagger!" Bradshaw repeated. "Not that other word."

Faarooq noticed that Kane's violent movements were beginning to slow down and his gut-wrenching, ear-piercing cries of agony were dying down. He watched as the bounding of his wide, well-muscled chest gradually softened.

He could hear their voices, both Faarooq and Bradshaw yelling at each other, but couldn't make out words. It was like listening to an extremely muffled radio in an area with bad reception while someone was slowly turning down the volume. He could feel consciousness slipping away from him slowly and as much as he fought to stay awake and alert, he was simply shutting down without his consent. He couldn't tell whether or not he was dying or just simply passing out. Either way, he was disappointed in himself for allowing these two men to barge in his space and take him out like this. And for some unknown reason, he couldn't help but think to himself, _I can't die now without my brother to join me in Hell...where we both belong._...

And without further warning, darkness engulfed him.

…...

The Undertaker took a deep breath as he entered the sacrificial chamber he'd been in earlier. The fallen symbol and the crushed corpse beneath still lay in their places in the center of the room and every candle still burned around it. He walked with easy strides toward the pentagram drawn in chalk in the center of the floor, watching carefully to keep the hems of his robe from brushing the candles and catching aflame. As he moved like a weightless shadow, he felt the golden locket his minions had found heating up in his hand from him clutching it so tightly. He had a feeling it had more to give him than the memory he found himself flashing back to just moments ago.

At last coming to the center of the pentagram, he lowered his head and lifted his hand to chest level, opening his fingers to stare at the flashy, golden object laying in his palm. The carvings curling along its exterior told him just when it had been made. It was old as the past Queen Victoria and her era in history, but that was not the main thing that drew him to such an object. The others seemed surprised that he actually found it useful, but what they didn't know was that when The Undertaker looked into the eyes of that precious, little girl in the picture, there was something about those ocean blue eyes that immediately awakened something deep within him. Something dead and gone that wanted to resurface, but barriers in his memory would not allow it to...unless channeled.

That was exactly what he planned to do at that moment, send himself deep into the recesses of his time and find out just why that face, those eyes, brought something up in him. Closing his hand around the locket once again, he lifted his fist up to his face and swiped it beneath his nostrils with a deep inhalation as if sniffing the object for any scent of the person it actually belonged to. His eyelids slowly fell shut over his acid green orbs as he then spread his arms out on either side of him, lifting his face skyward at the same time. He began to chant in tongues, each sound and syllable flowing from his lips in a steady pace and with a deep rumble that seemed to reverberate through the very walls of the room. In response, a breeze began to stir in the room. It was awfully cold and eerie, an indication that the gates of the supernatural had been opened both spiritually and psychically. He continued his demonic drawl, the air around him becoming thickly tainted with a dark essence that would stop the hearts of normal beings with no connection to its power.

His hair began to sway about his head as the breeze picked up with a low, ghostly howl. And it was then that he felt something strong and electric like a burst of energy, shoot from the hand clutching the locket all the way up his arm and neck until it reached his skull. It was like a knife had suddenly been driven into his temple and he winced a little, his head falling back further.

_The darkness on the insides of his eyes had suddenly turned into a dim, green room. He heard voices now, masculine voices that sounded like they were coming from afar. The smell of withering roses and formaldehyde filled his nostrils. Behind him, he could hear the loud ticking of a grandfather clock and the ballpoint of an ink pen tapping a clipboard. His vision moved like a man exploring a scene with his video camera, capturing magohony furniture, flowers dying within dusty vases, several portraits painted in black and white hanging upon the smooth, green walls. _

_It was the old funeral home lobby._

_As the scene before his eyes became clearer, he turned and came face to face with his own reflection in a glass china cabinet. It actually had no purpose being there since it was empty, but what he saw caused him to stir inwardly. He was but a child...no older than the age of thirteen with unruly red hair and a round, expressionless face. The fuzzy red sweater and gray slacks he was dressed in portrayed no one fit to lead a cult based on the power of the dark side. His attention was soon drawn away from himself when he heard masculine voices again, but one of them was a bit too high to be very masculine at all. His eyes just barely shifted sideways and he saw a reflection of two figures standing behind him. Curiousity sprouted within him as he made an about face and saw Paul standing before a man much taller than him wearing a brown trench coat with a simple black bowler hat, his head hanging low in sorrow. Taker was a bit surprised to see Paul on his two feet, speaking with the tall man while giving him the usual crazy, one-eyed stare. "We will take excellent care of your wife, sir. Oh, yes, we are known for treating our bodies with care."_

"_Thank you for your services, Mr. Bearer." The man spoke clearly and his voice held no signs of sorrow or emotion. He then looked over his shoulder and said, "Come on, hun. We're going home now."_

_Taker couldn't help but follow the man's gaze, only to spot a short, feminine form standing across the room, admiring one of the family portraits. Her back was to the rest in the room at first, but she soon turned to answer to the tall man. She was dressed in a pretty, pink dress and her long, dark hair was braided into two neat pigtails hanging past her shoulders. The second Taker saw her and looked over her doll-like features, he almost immediately noticed her pale, innocent face and peeking up from long, dark lashes were a pair of emotionless, ocean blue eyes. As she walked obediently toward who Taker assumed was her father, her head turned and in that instant, she saw him watching her. It caught him off guard a bit because he didn't know he was actually visible. He figured it was a Ghost-of-Christmas-past type affair, but he refused to stop looking at her due to the shock of the fact that she was the girl in the locket. That must've meant that this was more than a vision; he was looking right into his past, a file of the memories stored deep within his mind. Reliving each second of it. _

_After a few seconds had passed, the girl looked away, approaching her father and sliding her hand into his. She was so young, no older than 11. But still looked like the offspring of an angel. The man lowered himself to whisper something in her ear and she nodded, walking with her father to exit the funeral home. Taker watched her until she was gone from his sight and it had been only once again that she looked right back at him and he saw those sparkling, ocean blue eyes._

"That's impossible." He blurted suddenly, awakening from the vivid flashback. He turned his head side to side to make sure he had completely come back to present time, present thoughts. Seeing the candles lit all around him and the pentagram beneath his feet, he knew he was back in the sacrificial chamber. He no longer smelled withering roses and formaldehyde, but blood instead, looking down only to spot the body that lay crushed and bloodied beneath the heavy, metal symbol. Tilting his head, he stooped down slowly and brushed his fingertips against the pool of blood under the body. When he returned to his full height, he slowly lifted his fingers to his lips and slid his tongue along the tips to lap up the blood, his body shuddering in response to the coppery taste. He was not the least bit disturbed with himself for his action and it was made evident, when he simply turned on his heel and left the chamber, a harsh gust of wind killing every candle flame in the room the second he passed through the door.

…...

Arriving once again in Paul's funeral parlor, he looked over the damage caused by the intruder who had attacked his conscience, a heavy frown upon his face. The locket was telling him one thing, but his eyes were telling him that the man nor the innocent child -which by now had to have been a grown woman- could have done such a thing. He knew nothing of the two in the picture except for the fact that they had visited the funeral home to have the woman of the house buried. And what would he have done to them that they would hunt him down and attack a member of his Ministry?

"I don't understand..."He muttered to himself. "So much blood will be shed until I get to the bottom of this."

"Taker!" He heard a voice shout from behind him and when he turned, he saw young Gangrel running toward him. "They've returned with Kane!"

…...

Roger Morgan Cemetery was probably one of the scariest places Hunter had ever visited. On top of the fact that a breeze was blowing, howling like a ghost, he could have sworn he was seeing shadow people out of his peripheral vision. He swore several times to himself as he walked briskly between tombstones; some large, some small, some captivating, and some absolutely daunting. It wasn't too long before he spotted Persia standing beneath a large, oak tree with her arms folded across her chest, an idle look on her face.

"Persia." Hunter called, approaching her from the right.

She seemed a bit startled by the way she whipped her head around to look at him, but her tension vanished as soon as she recognized who it was. "Oh, you made it. I was beginning to think you forgot about me,"

Hunter took a quick breath to erase the fear from his system and forced himself to smile and laugh softly at her. "That's a bit hard to do." He replied, noticing her apparel; a snug, cream summer dress with black lace curling all over its flaring skirt. Her shoulders were bare, which lead him to spot a tattoo drawn on her right shoulder blade of a beautiful, black rose.

"So, um, why are we here exactly?" He couldn't help but ask, looking around while trying his hardest to hide his nervousness.

Persia started to walk forward steadily, approaching a tombstone built in the shape of a Catholic-style cross. "This is where my mother was buried." She answered softly, causing Hunter's heart to sink a bit for her. "She was born and raised here before she moved to New York to marry my father. I was only 11-years-old when she passed away and I remember her telling my father she wanted to be buried at home. Houston Texas. She was the most amazing woman I'd ever known."

"I'm really sorry, Persia." Hunter apologized sympathetically, watching her.

"It's alright." She sighed, flattening her hand against the tombstone, closing her eyes as if thinking back on her deceased mother. "It was so long ago, the emotion really isn't there anymore. But I didn't come here to tell you the story of my mother. I have something to show you." She walked around to the back of the tombstone and gestured for Hunter to follow. He did as told, went around to stand beside her, and looked at the back of the tombstone. It wasn't until she took a small step back that he noticed the small, red mark on the rough surface of the stone. In fact, upon closer observation, he realized that it was no mark at all. It was a little, red symbol. The same symbol Persia had shown him in the picture she took of her father.

"Jesus Christ." He muttered, frowning. "Is that-?" He stopped and looked at Persia who nodded her response to him.

"I've never seen this hear before. They must've done it right after they-" She paused to take a deep breath. "Right after they killed my father."

Hunter could hear the emotion in her voice, not knowing whether to put his arm around her for comfort or give her some space. He chose to stand still in case she was one of those women who preferred not to be touched when they got emotional. Surprisingly, she didn't seem very emotional at all. A strong woman she was.

"Look, if there's anything I can do for you tonight, just let me know." Hunter said straightforwardly.

Persia walked all the way back to the oak tree and bent down to pick up something off the ground. It was a small, brown book with the appearance of a journal from the 1800s. Hunter frowned slightly at it.

"I found this when I went to visit the house my mother bought as a vacation home down here. It was hard to search that attic with so much dust and cobwebs everywhere but I managed to find a chest where she kept all her old stuff. She had this journal when she was around my age, maybe older." She opened it and flipped to the middle of the book, taking another deep breath before she read:

"_I can't count the times I've told them to stay away from me and my family. Times are much different now and all I wanted was peace, but apparently I've only made matters worse for myself and perhaps my children. They call themselves the Brotherhood of Beleth, greedy men who only wanted me to be apart of their little group to use my intelligence and my body. Because I refused, I've received many threats upon my household and I'm not sure how I am to tell Nicholas. I'm afraid now. Not afraid of what might happen to me, but what might happen to the future of my children."_

Persia stopped reading then and flipped to another page close to the end, reading aloud again:

"_They know where I live. Last night when I went outside to feed the dogs, they were all dead and hanging by their throats from the picket fence. I didn't panic because I automatically knew who had done such a thing. Luckily, I was able to clean the stinking carcasses before Persia and Lucas went out to play. Their poor, innocent eyes...the terror they would feel. I want them to know that they may not see me soon. I'm not sure how soon, nor am I sure how to explain to them what will most likely happen to me. Beleth...they are absolutely terrible. I've seen them do heinous things to their opposers such as hanging their burning bodies from trees, sometimes in citizen's yards. They are cruel, heartless men who deserve to rot in hell. I just wish others knew of their existence for they are so well hidden it's quite nearly impossible to catch them and end them."_

"Who is Lucas?" Hunter asked once Persia was done reading.

"My brother. Well...my adopted brother. He moved all the way to Seattle when Mom died. Didn't even attend the funeral." Now the sorrow was starting to surface. Hunter could see her face reddening despite the dark of night. She went silent, averting her eyes to the distance. "He was 18 then. Old enough to live life on his own." She paused again, looking up into Hunter's eyes. "The bastards who killed my father just recently, took my mother when I was a child."

It pained him inwardly the moment he saw the hurt in her eyes. "Do you know why I want to find these men so badly, Hunter?" She then asked.

Hunter remained silent.

"I'm not just going to turn them in to be taken care of by the law. No." She bit her lip in anger, shaking her head slowly as the breeze bustled her dark hair sideways across her face. "I'm going to take care of them myself. Even if it kills me. When I made up my mind about it, I knew I couldn't do it alone. That's why I was so happy you came along."

Hunter still said nothing. He didn't know what to say actually. He couldn't turn her down because she was obviously disturbed on the inside, but he also didn't know how he would feel about taking lives. Hell, then again, they certainly weren't innocent lives.

"But how do you know you can trust me?" Hunter asked, his voice low, uncertain.

Persia swallowed down her tears, her gaze never letting go of his. "High school."


	5. Chapter 5

The Undertaker stood still and watched with hidden pleasure as his unconscious monster of a younger brother was being shackled securely to the wall of a cold dungeon cell that smelled an awful lot like blood, sweat, and death. Surrounding the Big Red Machine performing the dirty work, were Faarooq, Bradshaw, Mideon and Viscera, all hands busy with chains and shackles, making sure the dangerous creature had no chance of escape. They were finished within a few minutes, backing away from the motionless giant to give Taker room to observe.

"Can I ask you something?" Bradshaw spoke up, bending over to catch his breath as if he'd run several laps with Kane strapped to his back. "Why are you both so damn big and so damn heavy?"

Taker's eyes narrowed to slits as he glanced at Bradshaw, his expression completely unamused and everyone could tell that he was deciding whether or not he would beat the hell right out of Bradshaw for asking such a pointless question. "Maybe you should ask Kane when he wakes up." He replied in a low, venomous tone.

"But he don't talk." Bradshaw looked confused,

"Exactly." Taker cut his eyes at him, then looked back at Kane, walking closer to the helpless body bound to the cold, blood-stained wall. "I'll need someone to watch over him until sunrise."

"I'll do it, sir." Viscera respectively volunteered.

"Alright." Taker turned on his heel to face the members of his Ministry. "Now just because Kane is here does not mean we've gotten to the bottom of this. There's still a chance that he's actually innocent right now."

"Seriously?" Edge whined from behind the group. "What did you do? Consult the almighty golden locket?"

Anger instantly flashed across Taker's eyes as he took hardly three full steps forward and was in front of Edge faster than the younger man could even register, one massive hand wrapped around the blonde's throat. Taker's acid green eyes pierced his with venom as he towered over the blonde, a threatening snarl exposing his teeth. "Mock me again and I'll crush your fucking throat with my bare hand, boy." He growled loudly. "I hate smart-mouthed, whiny bitches. They make me angry and you already know what it's like when I'm angry." He moved even closer and Edge could literally hear Taker growling in his throat like some kind of animal. He tried to swallow but the grip around his throat was so powerful, it went nowhere. "Now..." Taker atlast released Edge, causing him to suck in a sharp gasp of air. It was as if he had seen his life flashing before his eyes. "As for the rest of you...be prepared to raise hell tomorrow. We'll be searching for suspects among the World Wrestling Federation. If we must take drastic measures to find Paul's attacker, then so be it."

He then shoved past the panting Edge and made his way out of the dungeon. The others turned and followed like puppies following their bitch, but he wasn't aware of their footsteps, for his mind was too busy. He walked steadily but with slightly slumped forward shoulders to show how tired he was. It'd been two days since Paul Bearer's attack and he hadn't slept since then; didn't plan on sleeping either. He ventured around the manor until the others were no longer behind him; they'd retreated to their own rooms and what not. It was silent...finally.

Within a moment, he found Paul's room and gently pushed open the tall, mahogany door, the dim light from the hallway pouring into the dark room. Across from where he stood, the motionless rotund form lay face-up on a large bed placed next to a curtained window. Paul's eyes were still closed, but Taker could still sense the small fraction of life within him. He seemed to glide across the room as he approached him, peering down upon his conscience.

As he could recall, it wasn't that long ago that this man was once a vibrant, wayward soul who was intent on controlling The Undertaker like a pet hell hound. They'd been through it all, it seemed, leaping back and forth between hating each other, to protecting each other, to betraying each other and then ending up living in the same house. Taker took a deep breath as those memories only stirred more anger in him than was already existent, causing his hands to ball into fists.

"Fucking bastard." He muttered low under his breath, the sound more like a growl than an actual voice. "I told you the only one allowed to kick your ass like this is _me._" He watched Paul a minute longer and then decided to get ready for the upcoming day. He turned slowly on his heel, his robe swaying with him, and in that instant, something dawned on him and had dawned on him so hard it caused his entire body to go stiff. His lips hung slightly agape and his eyes widened a bit as he now found himself staring straight ahead. The sudden realization nearly tightened his chest to the point of barely being able to breath and hardly two seconds later, his lips twisted into a vicious snarl. As he had recalled all the memories him and Paul shared, he had thought of the very object that was Paul's only weapon against the Deadman's wrath that also acted as a conduit of his power. And with one full sweep of the room, he realized that that object was not in its place; nowhere to be seen, infact.

Growling, Taker stormed out of the room, not bothering to close the door behind him or he probably would have broken it from its hinges. His booted feet fell heavily upon the floor as he tore through the hallway, down a flight of steps, and reached his destination which was the parlor all in a matter of seconds. His palm struck the parlor door hard, causing a loud banging noise as it flew open, once again revealing the muddle to his angry, acid green eyes. He continued, entering briskly, maneuvering all about the room, grabbing furniture that'd already been overturned and tossing them here and there in search of something very important. He checked the fireplace, the vents on the bottom of the wall, even the shattered casket, only to discover that _it _really was nowhere to be found.

His breaths could be heard hissing from his nostrils as he rested his hands on his hips and paced the room frustratedly. His mind was hardly able to grasp the fact that he'd lost the only two things he actually cared about and one of them just happened to be the golden prison where the wayward souls of his many victims were kept. The sacred urn...

…...

The very next night, Raw Is War was alive with noise and chatter, not to mention alarm backstage when Hunter Hearst Helmsley found out that Stephanie McMahon was paying a visit. He paced his locker room, accompanied by Shawn, Chyna and a rather coy Persia Winchester who were all seated on a long, leather sofa, watching the man in trunks blatently talk to him.

"So explain to me why exactly she's here again?" Chyna asked, more like demanded with a look of disgust on her face.

"I don't know." Hunter answered frantically. "I didn't get a call or anything."

"No. Not Stephanie." Chyna corrected, then her gaze flickered harshly toward Persia who was sitting right next to her. "I meant _her._"

Persia fired a dirty glare at Chyna while keeping a professional demeanor. "For your information, I'm a friend of Hunter's and I'm here for business and business only." She retorted with hidden venom in her tone.

"Chyna, will you relax? We have more important things to worry about right now." Hunter pointed at her like he was commanding his little lap dog to heel. "Stephanie McMahon is in this building and I don't even know what to do or say about it. Why? Because its a trap."

"I don't get it." Shawn frowned, standing.

"Vince must've wanted his little princess to come here just to see how I would react. This is all to give him a reason to attack us even more than he already has. I can feel it. The very second he catches me even looking in her direction..." He paused both his talking and pacing. "But I can't just...ignore her. She'll think what we had was just a one-night stand...and it wasn't."

"Hunter...don't tell me you..."

Hunter glanced at Shawn and after a moment of silence, he said quietly, "I think I fell in love with her that night, Shawn."

Chyna's expression went blank when she heard those words, her lips feeling as though they'd been glued together.

"Damn...then this really is a trap." Shawn sighed, shaking his head. "I have an idea though. There's no cameras in the locker rooms unless the camera crew decides to barge in here which I'm pretty sure they won't be doing tonight. So if we can get Steph to come in here without being seen then you two can talk or whatever ya wanna do."

"Are we forgetting the cameras in the hallway?" Hunter's tone was a bit harsh.

"Oh, well fuck me!" Shawn exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. "Go ahead and shoot me down for trying to help out your ass!"

Hunter shook his head and sighed. "I'm sorry, Shawn." He lowered his voice. "I'm just a little on edge here."

Persia cleared her throat softly. "May I ask who this Stephanie McMahon is?"

"Our boss' daughter." Chyna replied flatly. "This jackhole over here fucked her brains out in some hotel. And now he's paying for it."

"Chyna!" Hunter shot her a warning glare.

"If she really was your friend, she would've known already." Chyna growled.

Silence followed as Hunter and Chyna glared each other down, Persia and Shawn only exchanging glances in uncertainty as the moment grew awkward. Thankfully, before the two could leap and attack each other, Hunter's cell started ringing in his gym bag. He walked over to his locker to retrieve, not taking his eyes away from Chyna until he pulled the phone out of the bag and answered it. "Hello?"

"Hey, is this Hunter?" Came a female voice in response.

Hunter's reaction let the others in the room know just who the woman was. "Uh, Stephanie." He nearly choked on air, playing it off with a short laugh. "Yes this is Hunter."

"Oh, thank goodness. You'll never believe what's going on right now." She sounded rather irritated.

"What is it?"

"I've heard rumors that the Ministry is returning tonight so the whole damn roster's going nuts about it."

Hunter's eyes widened when he heard those words. "Shit." He replied.

"Exactly." Stephanie sighed softly. "And knowing what happened last time I ran into those evil bastards, my dad's trying to convince me to stay in his office while he figures out if the news it true. He heard about it as soon as I got here."

"Are you in his office now?" Hunter raised his brows.

"No."

"What?" Hunter nearly lost his mind, but fought to keep calm. "Stephanie, listen to me, you need to go to his office right now and stay there. I wouldn't want you getting kidnapped again."

"I actually had some place better in mind." It sounded like she was a bit excited. And just as soon as those words registered in Hunter's mind, a soft rapping sounded against the locker room door. All head's immediately snapped in its direction, just as it gently creaked open, revealing a smiling, brown-haired beauty standing in the doorway.

The phone slipped from Hunter's hand when he saw her and he immediately began making his way toward her. The brown-haired woman did the same, clicking her phone shut before entering the room, her heels tapping loudly against the tiled floor. The very second they came within each other's proximity, she just about threw herself into him, slamming her lips into his with no given warning. Hunter's eyes went wide in response to her sudden action, but he didn't hesitate to return the favor, his arms almost immediately circling around to her waist to hold her tightly against him as his mouth nearly devoured hers. It seemed he hadn't felt this in a complete century, which was probably why he was getting so caught up in what was happening. Without even thinking about what he was doing, he lifted her off the floor and soon felt her legs straddle his waist. His arms tightened around her as his tongue just so happened to slithered from his own mouth directly into hers and she welcomed it with her own tongue.

"Wow..." Was all Shawn could find himself saying as he stared in awe at the two, along with Persia and Chyna who were practically speechless. "Umm...so...you guys wanna go grab a soda from the vending machine?"

Persia only nodded as she rose from the couch and began toward the door, glancing back once at Hunter and the brown-haired woman who had to unmistakingly have been Stephanie. When Shawn noticed that Chyna wasn't moving, he rushed over to her and tugged her up by the hands, giving her a warning look that meant, "_It's about to get really fucking hot in here." _The three of them left the locker room as quickly as they could just as Hunter slid his hands down Stephanie's back and grabbed a handful of her ass, aroused by the tight-fitting, ruffly black minidress she wore that night.

"Ring them bells, buddy! Yeah, yeah!" Shawn cheered him on from the door, chopping at his crotch several times.

"You fucking idiot." Chyna muttered as she grabbed Shawn by his ponytail and snatched him out of the room, slamming the door shut with a bang. "Where's the damn vending machine, anyway?"

"I don't know." Shawn winced at the pain throbbing across his scalp. "But you can let go of my hair now."

Chyna did as he said, not bothering to apologize as she walked off, her leather, high-heeled boots clip-clopping loudly up the hallway.

Persia leaned toward Shawn while he pulled the scrunchy from his hair and massaged his sore scalp. "Is she always this angry?" She whispered to him.

"No. I think I've seen her smile like...three times." Shawn replied softly. "By the way, Hunter never properly introduced us so um," He held out his hand to shake. "I'm Shawn Michaels, better known as HBK."

"Persia." Persia shook his hand. A sudden crash from inside Hunter's locker room caused her and Shawn to jump, then exchange glances with each other. "I think that's our cue to go find the vending machine." She said in an awkward tone.

"My boy." Shawn chuckled.

…...

Chyna hadn't thought twice about leaving Shawn and Persia behind. She needed some time to herself, some time to get her emotions under control. The images of Hunter and Stephanie eating away at each other's faces still seared through her mind and would probably never leave until the night was done, yet she was surprised with herself at how deeply she'd fallen for Hunter. He was simply a friend when they first met, but as time went by, she saw something more than a friend in him. She saw a strong man, a business man, and a badass. Just about everything he did turned her on more to him, each time he wrestled in the ring, each time he found someone backstage to bully around, each time he made his fans laugh, and especially each time he talked to her.

He weakened her, but her pride never allowed her to show it. And as bold a woman as she was, she just didn't know how to let him know how she felt. Perhaps she was afraid of rejection, especially now that he was head over heels for little Princess McMahon. The very thought of her made Chyna's jaw tighten. In her eyes, Hunter deserved better than Stephanie. But, of course, she would be rather biased.

Chyna sighed deeply as she arrived in a corridor where about two of the ceiling lights were fading out. At the very end of the corridor, stood a flashy Coca Cola vending machine much to her luck. She was actually surprised to have found it so quickly since no one else seemed to know where the hell it was. Approaching it, she looked it up and down with a scowl on her face. She needed more than a Coke; what she really needed was a Tequila or two. Lifting her hands, she searched her dominatrix-like ring attire for any change which she usually kept in her bra and when she realized she'd found none, she swore in aggravation. "That's just fantastic." She huffed, shaking her head and placing her hand on her hips. For a moment, she continued to stare at the machine, thinking of something to do about her current dilemma, then a thought dawned on her. Not a good thought, of course, but nonetheless, she'd be satisfied in the end. Looking down at the outlet at the bottom of the machine, an eyebrow arched mischievously and she slowly looked over both her shoulders to see if anyone was around. Lucky for her, she was alone.

She squatted down quickly and stuck her hand in the vending hole, reaching straight up toward to the bottom row of sodas. Her fingers brushed against several wires, steel rungs and other unknown mechanisms that could've torn her leather gloves. She was especially careful not to get her hand caught in something and then end up being stuck there for the rest of the night. Biting her bottom lip, she pushed her hand further inside and could've sworn she'd felt a cylindrical object. "Yes." She quietly rejoiced, discovering that she had her fingers on a cold can of Coke.

She was just about to reach higher inside the machine when all of a sudden, she heard a noise behind her and instantly froze, the mischievous look fading from her face. It sounded like footsteps at first, but when the sound played over in her head, it sounded more like a low chuckle. "Shit." She whispered and gave her arm a yank, only to discover that it hadn't moved. Staring at the vending hole in shock, she pulled her arm back again. Same results. _Fuck, I'm stuck! _She began yanking and jerking her arm back violently, causing the entire machine to shake with threats of falling over on her. As she did so, she saw something move as quick as a blink through her peripheral vision, startling her. Her head whipped around to follow it, but to her unease, she saw nothing. As far as she could see, she was alone.

After having frozen again, the hairs on the back of her neck began to stand and the air around her grew strange and eerie. Her breath could not help but quicken with the chilling feeling that ran up and down her spine. Her nerves were screaming at her, warning her from each quivering inch of her body. It was like being somewhere haunted, knowing that something was there, perhaps watching, but not being able to see it. She swallowed as she continued to look over her shoulders, realizing that she could do nothing on her knees with just about her entire arm stuck inside a vending machine.

"Okay, Chyna, just calm down. You're only acting paranoid." She told herself over and over, closing her eyes as she tried to settle her nerves. Seconds passed in complete silence. It seemed that all strange activity -the noises and moving dark masses- had ceased in response to her words. When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was her arm in the vending machine, but that was not all. Her heart immediately began to race and her breath stopped dead in her throat as she noticed a tall, hulking shadow displayed on the front of the vending machine. _Fuck, _was all she could say to herself before the shadow suddenly moved downward.

A large, heavy hand clamped down over her mouth, stopping her from screaming as another hand grabbed her by the hair and tugged her head back harshly, causing pain in her neck. Her eyes grew incredibly wide as she tried to squirm and roll over to see who the shadow was, only to have her body violently snatched backwards and her arm popped right out of the vending machine. She heard something snap and almost immediately, excruciating pain followed all throughout her arm. The hulking mass lifted her by her hair, keeping one hand over her mouth as it then jetted forward, nearly knocking the wind out of Chyna as it sandwiched her between itself and the vending machine.

_Please, don't hurt me. Please, _Chyna begged in her mind. And in response it seemed, she felt something cold and soft press against her ear and a chilling, dark whisper, "I'm back..."

…...

"Where the hell did that damned woman go?" Shawn swore frustratedly, turning in circles as he looked around for Chyna. All he could see were a couple of workers, security gaurds, and others walking about, but no sign of Chyna. "Has she found the damned vending machine yet?"

"Hey, Shawn." Persia spoke up to get his attention. "I'm gonna go to the ladies room right quick. If you find the vending machine, you don't have to get me anything."

"Take your time." Shawn answered, his head still turning left and right.

Persia left him there and exited the wide open concrete area, entering a brightly-lit hallway where she was hoping she would find a women's restroom. Two burly men in tight, leather trunks passed by her coming from the other direction, both of them unable to look away from her as mischievous grins appeared on their faces. They laughed quietly with each other as Persia walked by them as if they weren't even there, ignoring their hungry gazes. _Pfft...men. _

After walking almost to the end of the hallway, she finally found the restroom, pushing open the door with ease. She was a bit startled when she saw another woman standing infront of a mirror, painting her already rosy red lips. The woman stopped to look at her once she heard the door open, her long, having turned her head so fast, her long, straightened blonde hair nearly whipped her across the face.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I hope I didn't startle you too much." Persia smiled politely, pushing her purse strap higher onto her shoulder as she began walking toward a stall.

"Not at all." The woman replied flatly, not bothering to return the smile. "Who are you? A new women's division wrestler or something?"

"Oh, no. Not at all. My name's Persia Winchester. I'm actually here with a friend of mine. You might know him."

"Who's that?"

"Oh, Hunter."

The woman looked Persia up and down and nodded, going back to her current activity in the mirror. "Yeah, I know him." She said, batting her lashes at her own reflection. "I hear he's in some serious trouble with the boss, too."

Persia stopped outside of the stall and looked over her shoulder at the blonde woman, frowning slightly. She then turned to face her after a second or two of staring. "Yeah, um, what exactly have you heard?" She asked, curious.

"Well," The woman puckered her lips in the mirror after she was done painting them, then tucked the lipstick into her brown leather Coach purse. "Someone told me he slept with Vince's daughter, Stephanie, and daddy'o didn't find out until like a month later. Boy was he pissed. Made Hunter fight really big guys like The Big Show, Dwayne, and Val. And you know what else I heard just now?" She made an about face, smiling wickedly at Persia. "I hear she's in this building as we speak. I'm not sure if Vince brought her or not, but I wouldn't want to know what would happen if those two were caught together. The gossip just gets juicier and juicier around here, darling."

"I've noticed." Persia stated softly. "And you look mighty familiar. Have I seen you somewhere before?"

"On television." The woman turned up her lip. "I'm Debra Marshall."

"Oh, you're one of the wrestlers!" Persia exclaimed, raising her eyebrows. That explained her athletically toned body. "I'm sorry. My mind's a little distracted right now or I would've immediately recognized who you were."

"Right." Debra dragged the word on sarcastically. "I'd love to chat, but I got work to do tonight. Ciao." And with that, Debra adjust the tiny skirt of her cream-colored dress suit and headed out of the restroom.

Persia watched as the door swung back and forth after Debra had exited, the sound it made as it beat the air rang loudly in her ears. Louder than it was supposed to. She seemed frozen in that spot, listening to that sound until alas the door stood completely still. It was silent. _No. It's too quiet._ Almost immediately after, her head snapped away from the door, hair swinging wildly as she looked in the opposite direction like someone else had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, but she was alone. In fact, her eyes beheld nothing but a clean, white wall. She felt something stir inside her and swallowed quickly, her chest beginning to rise and fall outside of its usual, steady beat. The air around her felt as though it were growing thicker and she found it hard to breath through her nose. That stirring feeling began making its way all throughout her body, starting from her stomach and creating light shivers up and down her spine. _You're not supposed to be alone._ It sounded like someone had whispered from behind her and she instantly spun around, only to discover that no one was there. _Oh, no. Here we go again._

She snatched her purse from her shoulder and unzipped the top with swift, shaky fingers, rummaging around inside like a raccoon searching for food. She could hear random objects rattling around, felt makeup kits, her wallet, her cellphone, etc. brush against her busy hand. Her breathing picked up as she searched vigorously, every huff and puff rather audible now and her shoulders were hiked up almost to her ears. Within seconds, she got her hands around a small, white pill bottle and yanked it out of her purse like her life depended on it. When really it was not her life that depended on it...it was her sanity.

Dropping the purse to the floor, she rushed to the mirror, slamming her hands on either side to stop herself from running right through the sink below it. When she looked at her reflection, she saw a pair of bloodshot eyes staring back at her from within deep, black pits. The skin of her face looked ghastly like something dead and her features seemed different, glossy from the sweat that was beginning to break out on her flesh. She could feel _it _coming back. Faster than ever before.

She popped the cap off the bottle and turned it over into her hand, dumping four small, white pills into her palm. Taking a deep breath, she stuffed the pills into her mouth, wincing as she forced herself to swallow each one down her dried throat. They went down slowly with no water to assist them to their destination, causing Persia to gag a bit, but there had been no time to find water anyway.

About five seconds had gone by and Persia stood with her hands rested on either side of the sink, long dark hair curtaining around her downcast face. She could feel her breath steadying again, felt the chills die down from her spine. A sense of calm washed over her, but along with it came a feeling of shame. She was ashamed of her current actions, but moreso ashamed of the very thing that caused those actions.

There was a dark secret she kept deep within her heart that no one would ever discover even from getting to know her. A secret that could only be kept with medical help. And if someone had walked into the bathroom within that moment, that secret would have been revealed. Even Hunter could never know that she was suppressing symptoms of mental insanity which was especially triggered when she was alone and in complete silence. It had all begun after the death of her mother because she was killed when she was alone...and the murder was completely silent. That sense of vulnerability instantly tricked her mind and body into believing that she would be killed by something inhuman in that instant, much worse than an average case of paranoia. Or perhaps it was something telling her that whenever she was alone, something was always there...

All too suddenly, a shrill cry pierced the silence from outside the restroom and Persia instantly lifted her head to glance toward the restroom door. "Debra?" She called, bolting toward the door in her heels. "Debra!"


	6. Chapter 6

Just as she was about to burst through the restroom door, she heard male voices in the hallway and halted immediately, pushing it open just an inch to listen. The last thing she wanted to do was to rush out into a dangerous situation and end up hurt...or worse.

"Help! Somebody help!" She heard Debra's voice and then it sounded like someone had slapped her across the face, silencing her in an instant.

"Not this time, Debra." A deep, husky voice came in response. "I can smell your fear...and I have to say, its very arousing."

Persia pushed the door open a little further until she could see past the white doorpost with only one eye, quieting her breath in case it was too loud. When she spotted the source of the commotion, a dry lump formed in her throat and she had to swallow it to keep from choking. Standing about twelve feet away were eight men dressed in all black. The sight of them screamed danger in itself and something about their presence in the hallway was simply malicious. Persia observed each of them and noticed that two of them, both blonde and exposing razor sharp teeth behind wicked smirks, were holding Debra by her arms. The look on her face was of pure terror and anxiety. Her eyes alone begged for the mercy of survival.

She felt like she was back in high school, watching the football players she associated herself with bullying one of the smaller guys or a girl they wanted to have their way with. Because of who she was to them, they had always listened to her when she commanded them to stop their heinous ways. So she was pretty convinced that she still had a bit of "hero" left in her now that she was a grown woman. Taking a deep breath, she palmed the door open loudly and stormed out into the middle of the hallway, facing the eight men surrounding Debra. "Let her go." She commanded firmly, her eyes dark with anger and her expression hard as stone.

But as soon as all eight men turned their heads toward her, she regretted even stepping out of the safety of the restroom, for she had not noticed the man who was standing directly infront of Debra, his massive frame daunting compared to the others. She swallowed as the man's head turned slowly and the only thing she could see after the motion, was a pair of glaring, deathly cold, acid green eyes. It seemed that when he could fully get a look at her, the snarl on his face melted into a straight line and in that instant, Persia felt like her heart had stopped. _Holy shit, he's huge._ _Am I seeing Satan?_

For a moment, no one spoke and the enormous man with the Luciferic appearance turned all the way around to face her, his eyes never leaving hers, in fact they were so piercing it seemed like they were looking into her very soul. Persia couldn't move, couldn't breath. She was so frightened by him it was as if time had suddenly stopped all around her and all she could feel in the air was death. Dark, bloody, gruesome death. The man tilted his head at her and she heard a low sound like a hum or a growl rumble in his throat before Debra suddenly shrieked at the top of her lungs, "Persia, run!"

It was like a slap in the face. Persia blinked several times, glancing toward Debra, then in every direction and it was then that she saw something that made her gasp. A tall, dark man with a bleached mohawk sitting at the top of his bald head was carrying a motionless body on its right shoulder, holding it down with his long, massive arm. To her astonishment, that motionless body wore the look of a dominatrix. _Is that-?_

Persia gasped, control returning to her legs as she took several steps back, nearly losing balance. "What've you done to Chyna?" She asked in a soft, shaky voice, feeling completely helpless.

"It's not about what we've _done_ to her, lady." Answered the man carrying Chyna on his shoulder, glaring Persia down with glowing, silver eyes. "It's about what we're _going _to do with her." A dark chuckle followed the statement and the other men joined in with their own wicked laughter, except for the enormous, Lucifer-like man who kept a straight face as he watched her intently.

Two other men from the group -one black and one white- both with strange, occult-like symbols tattooed across their chests stepped forward and began making their way toward Persia.

"Run!For God sakes, just FUCKING RUN!" Debra continued to scream.

Persia's eyes went wide as she watched the two blonde men restraining Debra ram her back into the wall, causing her to cough violently. The back of her skull had made impact so hard she'd begun to sway. Gasping once again in horror, Persia turned and fled, her heels shooting off in opposite directions. The second she reached the main backstage area, she saw Shawn talking to a tall, well-built, bald-headed man, dressed in a black vest and a pair of tight, denim shorts. The large, white skull printed on the back of his vest let Persia know that he had to be one of the wrestlers.

"Shawn! Shawn!" Persia screamed, pumping her legs faster across the concrete floor.

Shawn's head immediately snapped in her direction along with the man standing across from him.

"They have Chyna!" She ran so fast she could hardly stop herself. Shawn took a few steps forward and held out his arms, stopping her fast-moving body in its tracks before she could run further.

"What the hell's goin' on?" The bald man demanded, his thick Texan accent going unnoticed.

Persia could hardly breathe as she grabbed both of Shawn's arms, looking back over her shoulders while fighting to get past him. "They're coming! They're coming!" She panted so heavily it sounded like her lungs would explode.

"What? Who're you talking about?" Shawn asked loudly, frowning at her as he tried to hold her steady. "Persia, look at me. Calm down and tell me what's going on."

Persia swallowed and looked Shawn in the eyes. "There were eight men in the hallway when I came out the bathroom. They all looked dark and...and evil like they were in some devilish gang. I don't know who they were but they have Chyna unconscious and a woman named Debra Marshall. And now I guess I've seen too much because they're coming after me too!"

"What?" The bald man blurted suddenly, causing Persia to flinch. "Where are they?" He shouted at her.

"Over there." Persia looked back to where she'd just came, then returned her attention to Shawn. "I don't know what they're gonna do to them, Shawn! We really need to go."

"Not without Chyna." Shawn released her and ran toward the hallway, the bald-headed man following closely behind him.

Persia watched them both, spotting the writing on the back of his black, leather vest. _Stone Cold Steve __Austin._

…...

The audience roared with both fear and excitement as the music used to announce the arrival of the Ministry of Darkness blared all around the arena. The entire area went pitch black except for down below where a dark purplish light shone down upon the ramp and the ring it led to, capturing the attention of the crowd. The eight figures strolling down the ramp as if they owned it were very well known, so any officials or referees standing nearby had immediately fled to hide behind the announcer tables or scrambled beneath the ring like frightened gerbils.

The Undertaker wore a look of pure malice as he led his Ministry into the ring, dressed in his signature ring gear. He didn't bother to show his power that day by turning on the lights after he walked up the steel steps. Instead, him and his minions simply paced around beneath the dark purplish light that had already lit up the ring. While Taker looked around at the responding crowd, his eyes full of hatred toward the simple mortals surrounding him, Edge and Gangrel forced Debra onto her knees on the right side of him. Tears streaked her face til no end and now that she was before thousands, her hands were bound behind her back in thick, heavy chains. She shook her head side to side constantly, sobbing softly in fear. On Taker's left side, Viscera stood with one arm around the unconscious Chyna, holding her tightly against his chest so that he could stroke her silky, blonde hair with one, gloved hand.

Christian walked up to Taker and handed him a mic he'd taken from one of the announcer tables and once the crowd had settled down a bit, the Deadman lifted the device to his cold lips. "I hope this has gotten everyone's attention." He began. "Everyone of you putrid souls surrounding me and the even more putrid souls walking around backstage. The Ministry has returned after two months of absence and we are here for one thing: vengeance. Y'see, two days ago, someone made a cowardous move to anger me and my Ministry. Someone deliberately intruded my property and attacked my conscience, Paul Bearer." He paused to look around, waiting on any responses to die down. "I'm here to find and identify the crotchless, self-righteous son of a bitch who would even dare step foot near my property and attack my conscience. And not only has he been beaten almost to death, whoever's done this also stole my sacred urn. And if I don't get it back within a decent amount of time if not tonight...I. . HELL!"

The audience started up their cheering and roaring again which nearly drowned out the sound of Debra's screaming next to Taker's leg. He looked down at her, grabbed her by the hair and forced her to her feet, turning her around to face him as he yanked her head back. "Now I know whoever did this won't step up right away like a man who actually has a set. So I figured they could use a little...coax. If no one comes out here and tells me who attacked Paul within the next 60 seconds, I will break both of these insignificant little sluts in half!"

…...

Hunter had never heard a more beautiful sound than Stephanie's sounds of pleasure as he felt her warm body move beneath his. Each time he inhaled her scent, it was like a piece of heaven had entered his system, filled him from head to toe with a yearning for her that he'd never felt for another woman. His face was buried in her neck, teeth nipping and sucking at the soft, sensitive flesh as his hand played under her dress. He enjoyed the way her back arched to him as his fingers brushed against the rosy bud inside her panties, meddling with it until her breath quickened in his ear. He could hear her heart pounding against her chest and his own raced at the exact same rhythm as they were both lost in each other. Lost in the moment of being together again.

He was careful not to put all of his weight on her as he lay on top of her, the sofa supporting them both below. His fingers impaled her with hardly a warning, eliciting a soft cry from her lips and she clung to his arms, her arousal stimulated from both his sucking on her neck and his invading hand.

"Mmm. You're such a dirty little girl, Stephanie." Hunter's husky voice rumbled against her neck as he felt just how soaked she was, causing chills to race up her spine.

"I'm _your _dirty little girl, Hunter." Stephanie moaned in return, causing Hunter's entire body to shudder in ecstasy.

He was just about to make her moan some more when suddenly the locker room door exploded open, startling the living hell out of them both. "Holy shit!" Hunter swore as he and Stephanie jumped up at the same time.

"This is an emergency!" Shawn rushed in, followed by Stone Cold Steve Austin.

"What? What the fuck is it?" Hunter shouted back at him, obviously angered by the sudden interuption.

"While you were in here about to fuck this little sleazy tramp, Chyna and Debra don' got their asses kidnapped!" Steve yelled bluntly.

"Hey!" Stephanie yelled, pulling her dress down as she rose off the couch. "Just who the hell do you think you're callin' a sleazy tramp, Austin?"

"You better watch your mouth, Austin, or you won't be worrying about Debra anymore." Hunter threatened him, holding Stephanie back.

"Guys, seriously!" Shawn jumped in between them. "Chyna and Debra are both in danger!"

"Wait, wait, wait." Hunter waved his hands in front of him, shaking his head clear of all cobwebs. "Who the hell kidnapped them? And why?"

"Well we didn't see it actually happen, but Persia came and told us and based on her description it was..." His heart sank a little and he swallowed. "The Ministry of Darkness."

Stephanie gasped and slapped her hands to her mouth, looking over at Hunter who swore and raked a hand roughly through his golden hair. "Fuck. Fuck! FUCK!" He began pacing around angrily. Then stopped and approached Stephanie, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Stephanie, you have to stay here while we go after the Ministry. I won't let you be the next one to be kidnapped, alright?"

"But, Hunter. You three can't take all of them alone." Stephanie protested, her voice full of concern.

"We'll do what we goddamn can." Steve spoke up. "If I have to go out back and get my goddamn sniper rifle then I sure as hell will! Last time them sick bastards got their hands on Debra, them bloodsuckin' wannabes did some pretty nasty shit to her. She's still scarred from that shit, man!"

"Steph, please stay here. Promise me you won't come out and do something foolish. We both know how you are." Hunter said.

Stephanie was hesitant, but sighed and nodded her response. Hunter kissed her on the forehead to say thank you before he, Shawn, and Austin bolted out of the room, the door slamming shut behind them.

"So where the fuck are they now?" Hunter asked as the three men ran through the hallway.

"They're probably out in the ring, showcasin' the girls like their little hoes." Austin suggested, his arms pumping heavily on either side of him.

"Shit." Both Hunter and Shawn spat at the same time.

"Who knows what kinda heinous shit he's got planned for them!" Shawn said.

After all the bumping into and knocking several people over, not to mention kicking through several doors, they reached the arena and ran out onto the stage just in time to see the Ministry with Chyna and Debra standing around in the ring.

"Debra!" Stone Cold instantly shouted and started down the ramp, but Hunter and Shawn immediately grabbed him back. He saw her head snap toward the stage, which meant she'd somehow heard him above the crowd and immediately she began a fit of screaming. "Steve! Steve, help!" He heard her voice just as clear as day. He noticed the way the Undertaker had her in chains and was pulling back on her hair like she was his untamed bitch. His face went red as blood in anger and he jerked himself forward against the arms holding him back, shouting and cursing at the top of his lungs. "You get your fuckin' hands off her, ya overgrown dead bastard!" His booming voice echoed down the ramp and in return, The Undertaker simply glared at him, completely unfazed and unimpressed. "Bitch, I will kick yer fuckin' ass!"

While Hunter kept Stone Cold from rushing into the danger zone that was the ring, Shawn scurried across the stage where he found a mic someone had left and turned to the Ministry. "Alright, alright, gentlemen." He spoke into the device, his voice now audible above the screaming crowd. "We're going to try and handle this in a calm, professional manner." He looked frantic, rocking back and forth on his widely-parted feet with one arm extended forward in defense. "Now, if you would kindly give us Chyna and Debra, nobody will get hurt. Okay? So just...hand 'em on over-"

"Do I look stupid to you?" The Undertaker shouted into his own microphone, his face turning red in anger. "If you want them so bad, why don't you come down here and get them yourselves."

Shawn exhanged glances with Hunter and Stone Cold, then looked back at Taker. "What happens if we do?"

"You'd better pray your soul to the Lord, boy, because the rest of your scrawny ass will be mine!" Taker growled darkly, fixing the much smaller and weaker man with his cold gaze. "But if you must insist, on handling this whole thing professionally, you'll give me what I really want out of this building."

"What? What do you want? We'll give you anything!" Shawn pleaded. "Is it our souls?"

"No." Taker answered and his cold, dead lips curled up into an arcane smirk. "I'll give you a hint...she is obviously a friend of yours judging by the way she cried out for you when I damn near scared her to her grave. I can describe her features to make it easier for you to guess, but you may not be pleased with my exact opinion of her looks."

"Hanh?" Shawn's face twisted in confusion as he looked over at Hunter and Steve. And then it dawned on him, his eyes immediately widening. "Y-you mean-?"

"Yes." Taker cut him off, the word coming out in a snake-like hiss. He was actually pleased with Shawn's intellect. "Bring her to me and I'll set these two free. You'd better be happy I'm actually making a deal with you."

"Wait." Shawn shook his head. "But why do you want her?"

"That...is none of your concern." Taker growled once again, narrowing his eyes. "I suggest you hurry up and find her. Or you'll never see your precious Chyna again."

Shawn pressed his hands to either side of his head, looking about frantically.

"Shawn." Hunter called from across the stage. "Shawn, who the fuck is he talking about?"

Shawn was afraid to tell him the answer and after a few seconds of thought, he approached both Hunter and Austin, a weary look upon his face. "I really don't want to tell you this, but.." He paused and looked toward The Undertaker. "He's talking about Persia."

Hunter felt the color flush from his face. "You son of a bitch! I won't let you have her!" He shouted viciously at the Undertaker, getting only a low, dark chuckle in return.

"Apparently I overestimated your intelligence, Hunter." The Undertaker took a step toward Viscera and tauntingly ran his fingers through Chyna's hair. Viscera smirked when he did this. "I suppose now she belongs to _us, _right Viscera?"

Replying with a nod and a chortle, Viscera tossed Chyna up onto his shoulder and caressed the back of her thigh with his free hand. Hunter and Shawn nearly lost their minds when they saw this.

"No!" Hunter shouted, letting go of Steve. In the blink of an eye, he became the one who needed to be held back as he rocketed down the ramp, Steve and Shawn immediately dashed full speed after him.

Watching them run toward the ring, The Undertaker lifted his left hand in the air, his fist closed as if he were holding mistletoe above the empty space before him. "I'll be back." He said lowly before he threw his hand down and a loud shattering noise was heard and all too suddenly and startlingly, every life form standing in the ring vanished into thin air like phantoms, leaving behind only a hovering cloud of swirling, black smoke.

Hunter was the first to dive through the ropes and run right into the mystical residue, his lungs instantly locking up on him as if they'd suddenly turned to stone. He hit the mat hard, grabbing at his throat as his eyes grew wide and his body began to jerk violently, fighting for air to breath. The veins on the sides of his neck began to bulge, appearing as though they would burst as they suddenly turned from a normal green shade to a deathly blue. He felt as if consciousness was fading in and out of him and he rolled onto his back violently, still jerking and twitching for air. Just as the purplish light began to fade from his eyes, he felt two hands grab both of his feet and pull him right out of the ring, causing him to hit the concrete with a thud. He immediately went into a coughing fit, spewing black dust from his mouth as he rolled around on the ground, gasping and choking. "They're gone!" He rasped out, struggling to regain his senses. "They're all fucking gone!"

…...

The locker room was quiet as Hunter paced about impatiently. Stephanie and Persia were sitting on the sofa while Stone Cold and Shawn stood on either side with their arms folded, looking away both awkwardly and angrily.

"I don't understand." Persia spoke up, breaking the silence that hung between them, her voice soft and still a bit shaken. "Who were those men and why did they take Chyna and Debra?"

"They call themselves the Ministry of Darkness." Stephanie began to explain. "They are very evil men who sacrifice people in the name of darkness and they are led by one of the most-feared men in all of the WWF." She turned her head to look at Persia who's eyes were downcast, hands clasped in her lap. She looked as if she were trying to hide her fear, but it showed nonetheless. "The Undertaker."

"Is he..?" Persia tried to ask, but paused, the memory of that giant, demonic being seared into her mind.

"The one that looks like Satan." Shawn finished for her, muttering something under his breath afterwards.

Stephanie nodded. "You _do not _want to get in that man's way. Ever." She added.

"Ya wanna know why he took Debra and Chyna?" Steve chimed in.

Persia looked up at him, her eyes glassy and sorrowful when she saw the daunting anger written upon his face.

"He took 'em 'cause he wanted us to trade him another woman, but we didn't. Wanna know who that woman was?"

Hunter fired him a harsh glare, knowing where he was going with that. "Steve, stop it." He warned him, but was apparently ignored.

"He wanted _you._" Austin all but spat at her.

"Shut your fucking mouth Austin!" Hunter stormed up to Stone Cold and roughly pushed him back against the wall, his face still bloodred in anger. "None of this is her fucking fault! So don't talk to her like it is, alright!"

"Then, its _your _fault 'cause you were too damn selfish to give her to him!" Austin yelled back, spit flying from his lips.

"Listen to yourself! I'm not gonna give up one friend for another! Point blank! I don't leave any man or woman left behind, nor do I use them as scapegoats!"

"That ain't what Chyna's gonna be thinking when she wakes up in The Undertaker's chamber of TORTURE!"

"Will both of you just stop it?" Stephanie screamed, jumping to her feet. "I know we're all pissed off and frantic, but the important thing is to stay calm and think things through!"

Hunter and Steve turned their heads to look at her and for a moment, she simply glared them both down, showing the strength she possessed as a woman. She then lowered her attention to Persia, who was staring straight ahead at nothing. "Now," She said to her, settling back down onto the couch and gently touching Persia's shoulder. "Do you have any idea why the Undertaker would want you instead of Chyna and Debra?"

Persia shook her head. "I've never seen him before in my entire life. I don't even know what I've done wrong." She confessed.

"Are you sure?" Stephanie egged her on.

She nodded in response. "I just know that when he first saw me...and we first locked eyes...it was like..."She paused and shook her head. "Oh, I don't know."

"What? It was like what?" Hunter walked in front of her and squatted down to her level, looking her in the eyes.

"I don't know how to describe it, Hunter. I was just...so scared. It was like looking death in the face. In fact, when I looked into his eyes, it felt like I really _was _dying. Slowly and painlessly."

"Is something wrong with you? Y'know...mentally?" Steve asked her, squinting.

At that, Persia felt something snap in the back of her mind and she instantly jumped to her feet. "No! Nothing's wrong with me! I'm perfectly fucking fine!" She raised her voice at him. "After all, I'm only wanted by a devil out of hell!"

"Leave her be, Steve." Shawn finally spoke up from the other side of the sofa. "I think we all need to go home and get some rest. It's been a long night."

"I agree." Hunter rose to his full height. "Stephanie, you should probably tell your dad what's going on."

"Oh, trust me. He's gotten every detail by now." Stephanie nodded.

"Persia, I'm gonna drop you off at your hotel and we're all gonna forget about this whole thing until morning time, alright?"

Persia only nodded.

…...

The Hilton Hotel had always been one of Persia's personal favorites. It was simply beautiful and so well adorned from its tropical set lobby to its well-kept rooms and services. Sadly, hardly any of that mattered to Persia as Hunter walked her up to her hotel room. What mattered the most to her was the safety the hotel would hopefully provide her with.

After Persia walked into the suite, Hunter waited by the doorway, watching her throw her purse onto the bed. He looked greatly concerned, for he did not want to leave her alone. Especially not after what they'd all been through that night. "I could stay with you...if you want." He suggested, his voice gentle and assuring.

"I appreciate your help, Hunter. But I'm fine." Persia smiled weakly at him. "You go and enjoy your night with Stephanie."

"That'll be a bit hard to do." Hunter chuckled a bit, leaning against the doorway. "Especially while my mind is on you."

Persia blinked, simply staring at him. Hunter nodded once to her and slipped out from the doorway. "Well, goodnight." He said. "Be safe." And the door clicked shut.

…...


	7. Chapter 7

"No! Please, no! I'm fucking innocent!" Debra's shrill cries of desperation filled the dark, damp dungeon as the Ministry and its powerful leader filed in, Edge and Gangrel holding the terrified woman by her arms. She fought with just about all the strength she could muster while they dragged her mercilessly toward the back wall where their prisoners and victims were kept. Still bound to this wall, slowly regaining his strength was the Big Red Monster, Kane, who's multi-colored eyes watched his elder brother with evident hatred and a lust after the Demon's own blood. The air was cold all around them, reeking with the stench of blood, sweat, and rotting flesh, all three pleasing to the senses of the Deadman.

"Hang her up next to Kane. Chyna will be on his other side." The Undertaker ordered, folding his massive arms across his chest as he stood back and watched.

Debra continued to fight while Chyna was still unconscious. Her blonde hair was disheveled and unruly and her clothing had been rent from her violent movements against the Brood. They forcefully shoved her against the cold, brick wall and raised her arms above her head, quickly fastening two shackles around each wrist. Then planted her feet shoulder-length apart and shackled them, as well. When she looked and saw Kane to the right of her, she wailed even louder, shaking her head side to side almost uncontrollably.

Chyna was shackled on the other side of Kane in no time and it had been apparent that Viscera enjoyed doing it himself.

"She'll wake up soon enough." Taker said to Viscera, noticing the way the large man's silver eyes gawked at the woman as he backed away from her. "Then you can play with her as long as you like."

"So, what is the plan exactly?" Bradshaw asked aloud.

Taker released a deep sigh, stepping forward slowly toward Kane. "I saw our second suspect today..." He stated.

All eyes turned to him in curiosity. "Who was it, my lord?" Mideon asked respectively.

The Undertaker halted directly in front of his brother, looking the half-man, half-demon in the eyes. A moment passed with no answer, the reason being that he wasn't certain about sharing that information with his minions. They'd more than likely assume him to be a fool. Hell, right now he felt like a fool for actually having the thought that the woman in the hallway was possibly _her_. A creature so delicate and beautiful looked nothing close to a criminal who could break into someone's home and attack a man so brutally. Then again...looks were decieving.

Another shrill cry suddenly stabbed at Taker's eardrums. Growling in annoyance, he turned toward Debra, slowly approached her. At first, he had been enjoying the sight of her fear, relishing in it like a hawk over its prey, but now that it was interupting his train of thought, he had a serious problem. He looked down into her water-spewing eyes, not saying a word at first, his face hard as stone. Debra shook her head at him, wailing and crying as if she were actually being tortured. "Please, Undertaker, I've done nothing to hurt you or your Ministry! Please...just let me g-" The sound of Taker's hand coming in contact with Debra's face crackled through the room, leaving just about everyone in surprise.

"Shut your damn mouth, woman." He barked at her, wrapping a hand around her throat. "No one can save you out here! You're all mine until I get what I really desire!"

"You probably shouldn't hit her, Taker." Christian said softly, swallowing in disbelief at what he saw.

"I'll hack her to pieces in front of thousands if I have to." Taker growled without looking back at the young minion. "And you'll be the next lamb to the slaughter if you don't hold your tongue, boy."

Christian immediately went silent, stepping back slowly toward the dungeon door.

"Now," Taker continued, lowering his voice a bit. "All of you...get out."

For a moment, all was silent except for Debra's quiet sobbing and sniffling, not a single foot moved an inch across the cold floor. Taker felt a storm of rage building up inside him quicker than he could think about it and before he knew what he was doing, he spun on his feet so violently all witnesses were nearly startled out of their skins. "I SAID GET OUT!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, angered by their disobedience the first time he spoke.

They immediately shrunk away in response, not wishing to anger their leader any further. The attack was beginning to take its toll on the Deadman, leaving him nearly insane, wrecking himself with his own anger and lust for revenge.

The moment he was alone with Kane, Chyna, and Debra, he turned back toward the slumped, red giant, his demeanor now reverting back to sirenity. "You of all people know me too well, Little Brother." He began, once again folding his arms as he released a deep sigh. "In fact, you and I both know that when a crime is committed against me or my household, I will not rest until I find the criminal. Three nights ago, I found something that disturbed me and my Ministry. Two nights ago, I found the body of the only person I considered to be close to me lying on the floor with a casket on top of him. You wanna know who that was, Kane? Oh wait...you already know, you godforsaken son of a bitch. It was Paul!" He didn't notice that Debra jumped with the sudden escalation of his voice. "Now, the guys...they're pretty damn smart. They think you're the one who broke through that damned window and beat the devil right outta Paul. But I'm smarter..." He stepped a bit closer to his brother, gripping his chin gently and lifting his head up so their eyes were perfectly leveled. "I know it wasn't you, Little Brother. But that doesn't mean you ain't in trouble. Because even if you didn't attack Paul, you had to be in on it. You can't say shit with that fucked up mouth of yours, but your eyes are telling me everything. Your eyes are telling me that someone or something that you know of was sent to do this. It'll only be a matter of time before I get my hands on it and until I do...you're fucking stuck here, Kane."

"HELP!" Debra began screaming again, jerking herself violently against her shackles.

The Undertaker's head snapped in her direction instantly. "You know what, bitch?" He said smoothly, tilting his head side to side until the bones in his neck popped. "I'm about to shut you up for good."

"SOMEBODY HELP ME! I DON'T WANNA DIE LIKE THIS!" Debra continued to shake her head wildly while she watched The Undertaker approach her with a predatory stride. "I'll do anything to live! Anything!"

The Undertaker nonchalantly cocked his head at her. "Like what, pray tell?" He asked lowly.

"I-I don't know." Debra swallowed, leaning her head back against the wall. "I-I'll...I'll give you my body. Would that make you...let me go?"

The Undertaker halted before her, daunting her with his piercing gaze. At first he was silent, laughing inwardly, then suddenly his hand lashed out at her again, slapping her so hard across the face her head spun. "I would rather dig a hole in the ground and fuck the dirt, you worthless whore." He chuckled darkly as he listened to Debra's loud sobs. "Besides, I already know who's been between _your _legs."

Debra's face became distorted and nearly every inch beneath her eyes was soaked in tears. Taker could withstand no more of her noise and simply turned his back on her. He left the dungeon without another word, the door slamming shut behind him.

…...

Edge took a deep breath as he gently pushed open Christian's bedroom door, a cold draft immediately assaulting his pallid flesh as dim, golden light flooded into the hallway. The younger blonde was lying face-down on his bed, the comforter wrinkled beneath him as he had found it way too hot to tuck himself under covers. His entire body was still as if he were asleep, but his eyes were wide open, staring across the room as if he were in a trance. "What're you doing here?" He asked softly, not bothering to look in Edge's direction.

Edge entered the room and gently closed the door behind him, sighing as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his comfortable, scarlet bathrobe. "Oh, no reason really. I just wanna know what's wrong with you." He replied casually, eyeing Christian.

Christian sighed. "There's nothing wrong with me. I'm perfectly fine."

"Oh, really?" Edge raised his eyebrows. Christian's shallow tone alone told him otherwise. "Your actions don't say the same, man."

Christian finally glanced at him, his face empty of any emotion. Edge ran a hand through his hair, his eyes dropping to the floor then lifting back to his best friend. "Look, lately I've been noticing a difference in you. You're acting very strange. Like...like you just wanna run away and never come back."

"Maybe that _is _what I want, Edge..." Christian added quietly.

Edge was silent for a moment. He walked up to Christian's bed and sat down on the edge next to him, glancing out of the bedroom window at the starry night sky. "That's different." He said. "Why do you feel that way?"

Christian simply shook his head, not replying.

"Come on, brother." Edge gave him a concerned look. "Anything you say is safe with me."

"That's just what I wonder about, Brother." Christian propped himself up on his elbows, turning his cerulean blue eyes toward Edge, his long, blonde locks collapsing around his face. When Edge frowned at him slightly, he took a deep breath and his lips parted ever so slightly. "When I first saw the Undertaker perform one of his secret sacrifices –the one he does to summon dark spirits to give him more power- I began to wonder...are we really safe here? Can those spirits keep us safe from the outside world like he promised us they would? Keep us safe from those who should be showing up with pitchforks and torches to lead us to burn on the stake?"

Edge watched Christian's eyes searchingly, finding a heartfelt sincerity in them that nearly frightened him. Though his words were rather unexpected, they caused Edge's own mind to wonder. But he wouldn't openly agree. "Would his Lord of Darkness lie to us? Especially about our safety?"

"He's a deciever! A demon straight out of hell! Who knows, Edge. We could end up just like that man we saw earlier in the sacrificial chamber. Strapped to that damn symbol like variables in a voodoo magic trick." Christian's tone thickened with anger. "We've been in this Ministry long enough now to know that that man could kill us all off at any given moment and not give a damn about it! Why? He's a big, evil, heartless, son of the devil!"

"Woah, woah, woah!" Edge made a face. "So all this time you've only been acting like you trust Taker? And he's been buying it?"

"Damn straight." Christian rolled out of bed and walked across the room toward the dresser. He layed his fists against the hard, mahogany surface and sighed deeply. "Either that or he already knows I've been the one to act the oddest around him. He's one of the smartest fucking bastards I've ever met and is probably just playing along with me. Waiting on the opportunity to expose me for the fraud I am."

"Stop fucking talking like that!" Edge raised his voice. "Do you have any goddamn idea what you're doing right now? You're writing your own fucking death wish, that's what you're doing!"

Christian whirled violently, his hands sweeping across the dresser in the process, knocking down a few items. Edge jumped while glasses and bottles of wine crashed loudly to the floor.

"I _am not_ afraid." Christian bared his sharp teeth at Edge, his eyes widening slightly. Silence followed the statement, until neither one of them could take much more of its intensity. "I care about each member of the Ministry if no one else does. I know Taker doesn't. I know he only cares about his own common goal and that's infesting the universe with his despicable dark power. I know he only laughs when he hurts all of us. I know he felt pleasure when he whipped me across my back that night. He probably drank all the blood he beat out of me when he was done! And I know after that, he probably wants to fucking kill me. Slowly, painfully, and he's gonna be laughing his overgrown ass off while he's doing it. We aren't safe here, Brother. I regret-"

"Just stop it, Christian!" Edge finally cut him off, shooting to his feet so fast his hair flared up like a mad man. "You're fucking insane! So what if the Deadman has no heart. That's the point of being a _DEAD MAN_! But so far he's given all of us what we wanted. People fear us, they respect us. When they hear our name they shake in their boots because of our reputation. That's what we've all wanted. The Undertaker's done us a favor by awakening our true killer instincts and now we can take the world if we want. All he's wanted this whole time is to make us stronger, better, tougher and you sit here and say he's a deceptive monster who wants to kill us? Don't you think we'd be dead by now if he really wanted to kill us! This is the Undertaker we're talking about!"

Christian stood still, his mouth hanging agape in shock. "Are you defending him, Edge?" His voice softened almost to a whisper. "After all we've been through together in this hellhole, you're actually sticking up for that bastard? What about me, Edge? What're you gonna do if he actually decides to get rid of me? Are you gonna be on his side then?"

Edge went silent, feeling as though Christian had driven a burning dagger into his heart. It was one of those times where he'd found himself so wrapped up in something, so hungry for something he didn't need, that he'd actually forgotten what was the most important to him; he'd forgotten what he needed most in this life. And that was Christian.

"I want you to think about it tonight, Edge." Christian continued pleadingly. "But I don't know if I can do this any longer..."

"Christian, don't..." Edge shook his head. "You can't."

"Who's gonna stop me?" Christian just about bore a hole through Edge's skull with his stern gaze as he made his way toward the bedroom door. "If you really loved me like a brother...you would let me go."

Edge's heart just about sank to the pit of his stomach when he heard those words and he said nothing else as he listened to the sound of the bedroom door slamming shut.

…...

It was silent except for the howling of the wind as Persia stood still before Diane Winchester's grave. Moonlight glowed against pained ocean blue eyes as they studied the tall stone, reading the name over and over again, reading those painful numbers over and over again. _If only you were here to help me through this_, were the thoughts that ran through her mind, killing her slowly from the inside. _I'm so alone. _

A harsh gust of wind met her suddenly, causing her entire body to shiver harshly. She drew her hands up over her arms as her dark hair whipped across her face. Despite the cold, she didn't care to grab a coat for herself when she'd left the hotel room several minutes prior. Besides the fact that the death of her parents was beginning to take its toll on her, she felt as though she'd caused nothing but trouble for a friend. Hunter. If she hadn't been at the Raw Is War show, Hunter's friends wouldn't have been kidnapped on her behalf. She felt afraid as well as ashamed; a curse on two legs. That explained the coat she decided not to wear. She felt like she deserved to suffer from the bitter weather, as if her current fate was not enough for her.

_I deserve to be hunted down and killed like you were._ _Drowned in a pool of my own blood._

Her eyes burned with the urge to cry, but she refused because she knew that if she started, she would not be able to stop. Once the harsh wind had settled just a bit, she sat against her mother's grave, staring out into the open field where death was eminent. Her father had taught her to be strong no matter the situation; in his world, tears were a sign of sure weakness, defeat. Her mother on the other hand had told her many times that tears were only an indication that she had been strong for too long. With those two thoughts in mind, it was hard for Persia to decide which made more sense, but her father's views were set the strongest in her. In a situation like this, she discovered that she was thinking much like her father, as well.

"Sometimes, you have to make sacrifices for the ones you love..." He would always say to her and then tell her the many sacrifices he had made for Diane and his children.

Persia cast her eyes downward as Hunter Hearst Helmsley once again appeared in her mind's eye. That strong face and hard gaze were so clear she didn't even have to close her eyes. She loved him. Undeniably. It was an inseperable friendship love that'd grown like a titanium chain over a surprisingly short period of time. She wasn't sure if it was because she'd known him years before, but that didn't matter much to her now that she had a decision she had to make.

Her body trembled slightly as a new face appeared in her mind, the frightening, evil face of that demon, The Undertaker. She could still see the expression he had on his face when they first saw each other in the hallway of the arena. The silence that followed had been so intense all she could hear was her own breathing and her distant heartbeat. And there was something about those eyes; something that made it hard to look away from them. Not only did it feel like something was being pulled from her by those eyes, they had been rather...familiar. Yes, there was a familiarity within those acid green orbs that made her gut wrench. But where had she seen those eyes? For surely she'd seen the eyes, but not the entity they belonged to.

The questions could not help but linger, _Why does he want me instead of Debra and Chyna? What have I done to him?_ Which, of course, lead to her contemplating how she would handle the situation. So far, she could only come up with one option and that was to save Hunter's friends by giving herself to The Undertaker. Most would call her foolish and idiotic to her face, but she was a woman of courage and her love for Hunter was part of what gave her that courage. Chyna was one of the closest people he had in his heart, despite the issues that threatened to seperate them. There wasn't much knowledge about Debra, but judging by the way he and Shawn all but panicked when they heard she was kidnapped, too, she was willing to bring her back with Chyna.

_Sometimes, you have to make sacrifices for the ones you love._


	8. Chapter 8

Persia's fist came down on the alarm clock just two seconds after its high-pitched beeping exploded in her eardrum. With a groan, she rolled over onto her side, her eyes fluttering open only to be assaulted by the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling window near the bed. It was 7:30 a.m., which was quite late in the morning compared to her usual awakening. She tossed her legs out of bed and groggily stood, making her way to the bathroom. Cool air caressed her skin from the vent located above her as she stood before the bathroom sink and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were dark and droopy, her hair hung in messy strands all around her head, and her skin looked flushed and uneven. It was evident that she was not a morning person.

She closed her eyes and leaned forward slightly, resting her forehead against the mirror to relieve the heaviness of her eyelids. A soft sigh left her lips.

_The Lord of Darkness calls out to you._

The whisper had been heard so suddenly and so clearly it was as if someone else were in the bathroom with her. Persia jumped with a start, her head turning frantically in search of the source. She was alone, but now she felt as if someone else were there. Watching her from an unknown shadow perhaps. Swallowing, Persia reached for the shower curtain and yanked it back, revealing an empty tub. Was she going crazy? "No, no I'm not crazy." She said aloud to herself.

_No...you're just insane._ The eerie whisper returned, causing Persia's heart to turn over in her chest.

"Where are you?" Persia shouted, storming out of the bathroom. She looked frantically around the bedroom and still saw no one.

_You will never find me with your own effort. I am in a place where the night is eternal._

Persia grabbed either side of her head and shook it violently, trying to knock herself awake. Maybe she was still half asleep and suffering her morning crazies. Or perhaps she was still stuck in her dream and at any moment, a Cheshire cat would appear out of midair and lead her to Wonderland. But to her dismay, when she shut her eyes tight and reopened them, she was indeed standing in her reality.

This voice was different from the ones she'd ever heard before. There were several that spoke to her during her moments of mental breakdown, but this one was much more alarming and carried a baratone hiss to it like the serpent that tempted Eve. She'd never been so frightened by a voice in her mind.

"Who are you?" She asked aloud, still looking around, but less frantically. She knew she had to calm herself down and in order to do this, she took several deep breaths while standing still, trying to relax her nerves.

_Come to me...and you will know who I am..._

…...

The plan was perfect. Hunter Hearst Helmsley's life was about to become a living hell thanks to the devious mastermind, Vincent Kennedy McMahon who stood several feet away from a large structure before him. The structure rose exactly 20 feet high and was about 18 feet in width, made entirely of steal with a design that could tear one's flesh. It was a newly refurbished Hell in a Cell cage, standing in the process of construction by the hands of gifted, hard-working men in hardhats. The way the lights in the empty arena glinted off the steel surface of the cell was beautiful in Vince's eyes.

As he stood and watched the Satanic structure come together, a man much younger than himself, dressed in a fine light gray suit approached him, hands clasped infront of him in a business-like manner. "So explain to me exactly what you have planned for this thing?" The younger man asked.

Vince turned to look at his son, an evil grin upon his features. "I plan on punishing the man who violated your sister." He replied calmly. "Triple H thought our little feud was over when I sentenced him and Shawn Michaels to a match with The Rock and Mankind. But the two-by-fours weren't enough, obviously. Someone came back and told me they saw Stephanie walk into his locker room. That really pissed me off, Shane. So you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to keep punishing him until he realizes he doesn't deserve a woman who can bring him so much trial and pain."

"Dad, you're one sick bastard." Shane shook his head slowly, looking his father in the eyes. "Now, we both know I hate the guy too, but in my opinion, it isn't up to us to decide who Stephanie really wants. I mean, we all know she's crazy about him and he's crazy about her. If you keep hurting Hunter, eventually you'll be hurting Steph too."

"Who's side are you on, hanh?" Vince frowned. He instructed Shane to walk with him before placing his arm around the younger man's shoulder, escorting him away from the huge cell surrounding the wrestling ring. The sounds of drills, hammers, and other working tools echoed loudly throughout the empty arena almost as if they were redoing the arena itself. On the way up the ramp, Vince took in a deep breath and released it with a good feeling in his broad chest. "Let me explain something to you, son. My family is like treasure to me. You, Stephanie, and Linda. And when that treasure gets tarnished by filthy-handed, obnoxious pirates like Hunter Hearst Helmsley, I tend to get very angry. And people don't like me when I'm angry. I believe I have every right to hurt this man as I please, seeing as though I am his boss and whatever the hell I say goes on my watch."

Shane shrugged. "I guess, Dad. But look at it through Stephanie's eyes. How would she feel if Hunter actually revealed to her everything you've been doing to him?"

"Look at me, Shane." Vince's tone hardened as he stopped and turned Shane's shoulders to face him. "Look at this face." His index finger was now pointed to his chin, eyebrows raised in a questioning fashion. "Does it look like I give a fuck?"

Shane sighed. "Alright, Dad. You're the boss and whatever you say goes on your watch." Shane drawled, not wanting to argue.

Vince simply smiled and patted him on the shoulder. "You're the best son a father could have." He chuckled, continuing with him up the ramp. Shane rolled his eyes on response, realizing exactly why he hated being with Vince on the job. His ego was the most annoying characteristic he possessed, no doubt. They continued to walk until they were backstage where the lights were a bit dim and other workers walked about, making sure things were set for that night's show.

"I chose the cell because I know Hunter hate's it more than any other wrestler on the roster." Vince continued, adjusting his suit jacket.

"And why is that?" Shane couldn't help but ask, thinking it was impossible for one wrestler to hate the cage more than another.

"I've heard people tell me how weak it makes him. He's like a vicious animal and the realization that he's contained drives him insane. It's almost like claustrophobia, but only with cages. You should see the looks on his face everytime he steps into one of those damned things. He always looks like he's about to shit himself."

"What if its seriously a medical condition?" Shane asked concernedly which in turn, made Vince frown at him once again. But then he chuckled from the inside.

"That makes things even better. It's bad enough I'm putting him against the only man who calls the cell his tailor-made environment. Wait, no. It's _good _enough." Vince chuckled again.

"Who is that?" Shane asked. But Vince didn't answer. By the time the question came out, the air about them changed suddenly, growing cold and oddly uncomfortable to Shane. A strange feeling hit the pit of his stomach like he had just walked into a haunted house. With the lights being dim in the backstage area, it was hard for Shane to play off the sudden edge in his nerves and his brows furrowed curiously, wondering what was happening. When he glanced at his father, Vince's eyes were focused forward and the look he wore on his face was of pride and accomplishment. However, what he noticed the most was the shadow that'd suddenly fallen over them both. Tall, broad, and overall intimidating. Shane's head slowly returned to its forward position and when he saw who had approached them, all he could do was swallow. All further questions immediately left his mind and he could feel the blood draining from his face. A pair of cold, acid green eyes immediately met his frightful gaze, boring holes into his soul the moment he recognized the dangerous entity before him.

_The Undertaker,_ Shane thought nervously, not uttering a word or a sound.

"I first decided that this situation needed to be handled with extreme measure when I received detail of everything Hunter did to my daughter that night. I promised my spies I would reward them greatly for their work and also that they would be amongst the thousands to watch my plan of vengeance unfold. I knew Hunter needed a rude awakening from his lovesick spell so I called on the only man who I know can get the job done and teach that son of a bitch a valuable lesson." Vince looked up into the hardened face of The Undertaker, easily hiding his intimidation of the man dressed in all black as usual. "Undertaker, I'm glad you were able to make it here. I know you told me you don't travel the same as everyone else."

The Undertaker continued to stare at him with anger burning in his gaze, hopefully not toward Vince for disturbing him.

"I want you to raise hell in that cell like you've never raised hell before, Taker." Vince said with vicious enthusiasm, his teeth nearly grinding. "Hunter's disrespected you several times in the past. This is your chance to make him your bitch. Right out there in front of thousands of his beloved fans."

The Undertaker stalked closer to Vince, causing Shane to take half a step back instinctively. "I expect something in return for this." He growled down at the two shorter men, his form appearing to grow. "Something that's actually worth my effort."

"Oh, don't worry, Undertaker. As soon as you take care of Hunter, your reward will come swiftly. And I gaurandamntee you won't be disappointed."

"Good. Because you know what I do to people who disappoint me." The statement lingered for a few seconds, the depth of his words still seething from his lips.

"Um, pardon me for breaking into this little chat." Shane spoke up, swallowing to hide the shakiness of his voice. "But did you bring the rest of the Ministry along?"

The way Taker's eyes moved dangerously toward Shane made his heart ache in his chest, but he remained as still as possible, making sure he kept eye contact with the Deadman. "That is none of your concern." He replied huskily. "Right now you and Pops should be focused on decent compensation for putting me in that cell with Triple H."

"Just trust me." Vince smiled, although it was rather hard to do such a thing while looking into the face of death itself. "You can even keep his soul if you like." He added.

Taker returned his attention to Vince when he heard those words. "No need. It's not _his _soul that I want."

Shane cast a sideways glance toward his father before he felt like his legs would turn into noodles. _Leave it to this scary bastard to say some scary shit to scare the fuck out of everybody. Fuck! _

It was clear that the conversation was done. The Undertaker passed a glance once more between both men, then left, his massive shoulders bumping them out of his path as he strode between them. They followed him with their eyes, looking warily over their shoulders at the being that had now begun to blend with the few spots of darkness in the backstage area. It had only been a matter of seconds before he vanished, leaving no trace of his appearance as usual. Vince shook his head slowly as he continued to stare off in search of the Deadman. "No one will ever understand how that man does the things he does." He stated quietly, receiving a nod of agreement from Shane.

"And I'll never understand why you trust him." Shane retorted.

"Because I know he's not gonna turn down an offer to beat the living hell out of somebody. I want him to half kill Hunter and I'm goddamn sure that's exactly what that evil son of a bitch's gonna do tonight." Vince explained.

"Will Stephanie be coming again?"

"Probably. But that doesn't matter. Hell, I might even put her in a front row seat."

"Dad...come on, now."

"She deserves to be punished for allowing him to deflower her, anyway. Don't "come on" me!" Vince sounded a bit irritated.

Shane frowned slightly. "As wrong as that sounded, I just don't want Steph to be so hurt she wouldn't be able to look at you the same. You remember what happened last time."

"Hell are you talking about?"

"You remember her high school crush? When the boy finally asked her out and they made out under that tree in the front of the school, you were informed by an on-looking teacher. And out of your anger due to the fact that he touched your precious little princess, you took the boy and buried him alive in our backyard. As far as Stephanie knows, he drowned in a damn lake. She went missing for days trying to find that boy, Dad."

"Yeah. Well, she's not as foolish over men as she used to be. I know that much. If she hadn't learned her lesson then, she'll learn it now."

…...

_Foolish girl, _The Undertaker thought as he listened to Vince and Shane. He stood against the wall in a dark hallway, not too far from where the two McMahons talked, arms folded across his chest. Only half of the hallway was lit, not surprisingly, the side he chose not to stand in, which cast light upon only half of his body. One acid green eye seemed to flash dangerously as they stared across the distance at the McMahons. His hatred for them was still strong, and yet he found himself doing Vince's evil bidding. Vince should have been working for _him. _Asking for no reward in return but to keep his own godforsaken life. That man was more of a pain in the ass than anyone else involved in the World Wrestling Federation, not to mention his arrogant, cowardly son. The bastard hadn't yet experienced the wrath of The Undertaker, but he was sure he would someday. Atleast, when Taker looked into the young man's eyes, he saw fear quite lucidly. In fact, it was written all over him, his face, his body, the way he stood frozen like a statue before the Lord of Darkness. Taker enjoyed giving people those kinds of reactions to him, because he was exactly what they called him – the most evil son of a bitch in Texas.

Taker sighed. Already clad in black pleather, he appeared to be prepared for tonight's kill. But was he really? Or was his mind too focused on his most ultimate goal. _That woman. _He didn't even know her name, nor did he want to know for certain. All he wanted from her was a confession that she was behind Paul Bearer's attack. As unbelievable as it seemed, anything was possible in the heart of Texas. He figured that perhaps, she had seduced Paul somehow, then initiated her assault. He'd seen women like her during his many years of walking the Underworld as if it were his home. Women who possessed astounding beauty, but were nothing but deceptive, vicious, flesh-eating beasts who smelled like the blood of their prey. _Looks are deceiving. I should know, _He thought to himself as he lifted one hand to lightly stroke his pointed goatee. After which, that same hand opened before his face, no longer empty, but holding a shimmering, golden object that he had materialized out of thin air.

He stared down at the locket, sighing deeply in order to contain the anger he felt just from touching it. Vengeance was close at hand. Not only could he feel it; he could practically taste it. He could see the blood of that godforsaken woman drenching his hands, bathing in it, lapping at its sharp, metallic flavor. _The bitch will pay. No one tampers with the Ministry...and goes unpunished._

…_..._

The sky had turned from its morning gold to a morbid gray. Persia was sure that rain drops would begin to fall at any moment. The wind blew steadily against her beige trench coat and the black bowler hat she wore over her straightened raven hair. The plaza she decided to visit was rather busy that day, especially with couples of all ages. She actually felt rather alone watching other groups of friends and colleagues pass by, paying absolutely no attention to her. Except, of course, for those men who couldn't help but gaze upon her good looks. Her hands were tucked into her coat pockets as she walked briskly down the sidewalk.

On the way to an expensive shoe store, a shoulder suddenly bumped hers nearly knocking her off balance. She took a few steps back to catch herself and felt anger burst in her before she could think. "Excuse me? Why don't you watch where the hell you're g-" But then she stopped short when she realized just who she'd bumped into.

"Persia?" A female voice greeted her.

"Why, hello, Stephanie." Persia greeted back, forcing herself not to frown. "What a surprise! No seriously."

"I'd say the same myself." Stephanie cocked her head a bit, her eyes squinting in suspicion. "Where ya headed?"

"Nowhere really. I needed to get out in the open air so I decided to take a walk down the plaza. And yourself?"

"Oh, I'm here with Hunter. We decided to do a little winter shopping."

"Sounds fantastic."

"Everything alright? I mean, how are you feeling after everything that went down at the arena?"

Persia almost wrinkled her nose at the insensitivity that stood out so evidently in Stephanie's tone. _Hell, you don't have to pretend to care just because your fuck buddy's friend. _"I'm fine." She took a deep breath, smiling weakly at the other woman. "I could just use a little peace and time to myself, I guess."

"That's understandable." Stephanie nodded, then moved a bit closer. "Now, don't get me wrong here. I don't mean to scare you or anything but...You'd just better watch your back. Once the Undertaker wants something, he'll stop at nothing to get it. And he uses every source he can get his cold, dead hands on. If you want you can come with me, Hunter, and Shawn to the bar tonight. Just so you won't be alone."

"That would be nice. Thanks." Persia nodded after swallowing softly. "But I actually want to know more about this...Undertaker."

Stephanie looked left and right slowly as if checking to see if anyone was watching. There was an air of paranoia about her that had sprouted the second Persia's statement registered in her mind. In fact, for a second, Persia was concerned that she had said the wrong thing. "Come with me." Stephanie said softly and walked past Persia, gesturing for her to follow. Persia did just that, looking over her shoulder quickly to be sure no one had been watching them. For some reason, ever since the past night, she felt as if a pair of eyes were watching her every move, never leaving her, making her awfully uncomfortable everywhere she went. Several times she had to tell herself that she was just crazy, but that was hardly working. After all...she really _was _crazy.

Stephanie walked at a fast pace up the sidewalk, adjusting her Dooney and Burke purse strap on her shoulder. By the time Persia had caught up to her, she'd already started to speak. "They say The Undertaker travels among devils and evil men. He's earned himself a well-known reputation, especially with the people of Death Valley. Anyone who encounters the likes of him is never the same afterwards. Pissing him off is basically like committing suicide and sometimes the things he does to people makes them want to commit suicide."

Persia eyed her frightfully, blinking several times to hide the fear flushing her face. She could see The Undertaker in her mind's eye as Stephanie described him, except this time, surrounded by flames, standing on a hill of tortured, bloody bodies. A man like that was probably worse than the cult she found herself hunting, or perhaps could have been its leader if they were connected to him. With that thought, Persia frowned, feeling as though she were being led on to something.

"He has many names." Stephanie continued, slowing down a bit to look at Persia. "They called him the Weaver of Nightmares, the Chaser of Souls, the Purity of Evil, and a bunch of other stuff. Perfect descriptions of him, too. I've had my own encounters with that man and let me tell you, hunny, that is one evil, psychotic, dangerous mother fucker."

Persia glanced down at the sidewalk, biting her bottom lip in thought. "So who is this Ministry of Darkness again? A cult?"

"Mhm." Stephanie nodded. "They aren't as famous as others, but they're pretty uh...y'know. You just don't wanna mess around with them. I hear a few members actually drink human blood for all three meals. They even have blood rituals for our most treasured holidays."

"How do you know all this?"

"Well, like I said, I've encountered them before and learned some things. The rest of my knowledge comes from others who've witnessed their terror themselves. Several have been left scarred from their antics."

"How powerful are they in Austin?"

"They're so powerful, they don't even have to show their damn faces to make a statement. At least not the faces we all know..."

"What does that mean?"

Stephanie didn't respond. Instead, she stopped at the door of a Starbuck's and peeked inside. "Hey, do you feel like drinking coffee right now? 'Cause, I'm definitely craving some."

"Actually, I need to be heading back to my hotel. I have a bit of work to do."

"Oh, come on. Hunter's not around at the moment. Neither of us want to be alone."

"No, its fine. Maybe tomorrow I'll join you for coffee." Persia once again forced a smile on her face.

Stephanie simply shrugged, not willing to push her any further. She'd just call Hunter and have him meet her at the Starbuck's so she wouldn't be alone there. But she couldn't help but worry about Persia. She didn't even know the woman well, but that didn't stop the fact that her life was in danger and there was perhaps no solution but to run. That, however, seemed never to work in most cases. The victims always ran, but they could never hide.

Persia could tell by the gleam in Stephanie's gaze that she was pondering something, perhaps wondering why she couldn't afford to sit still. _It's good to know someone other than Hunter cares, _she thought to herself as she continued to smile at her newest friend, assuring her that she would be fine. But in this case, it was harder for actions to speak louder than words.

"Hunter really cares about you." Stephanie stated softly after a moment of silence, her hair fluttering sideways as a light breeze began to pick up. "You know that, right?"

Persia hid a hint of surprise when she heard those words, a bit taken aback at the sudden change of topic. It was evident Stephanie didn't want to let her go so easily. She nodded with a quiet sigh, her eyes lowering for a second.

"That's why he's so willing to protect you. Any other woman besides you or me would be handed right over to the Deadman by now. You're a lucky woman."

"Not luckier than you." Persia interjected calmly and another moment of silence followed before Stephanie stepped a bit closer to her. "Just do me and him a little favor, okay?"

"What's that?" Persia frowned.

Stephanie's expression dropped suddenly into something hardened straight. Persia felt her throat tighten as she looked into her eyes. The woman stood a bit shorter than her so that her eyes were cast downward slightly. "It's been tough for us all. Especially you. I know you have the access, but don't show up to the Raw Is War show tonight."

Persia felt as if she'd been stung by a wasp, but at the same time, she didn't know exactly how to take the favor request. Confusion sat evidently upon her features as she watched Stephanie's eyes for any signs of tension, wondering if any of it had anything to do with her reunion with Hunter. There didn't seem to be any jealousy in her tone, no anger or unkind glaring in her eyes. Hopefully, she had said it out of concern for her safety. Persia didn't respond, whatever the statement meant truthfully, but simply allowed Stephanie to walk away from her and into the Starbuck's. She eyed her until she felt like she would hurl herself through the glass surrounding the shop, blinking away from the spoiled, little princess.

Drawing the collar of her coat up around her neck, she turned away from the Starbuck's and continued up the sidewalk. The walk was no longer the same. It felt awkward and uncomfortable like a million eyes were watching her every move. Or just one pair of eyes. Lurking someplace unseen. She scanned several faces with her timid gaze, trying her hardest not to show that she was growing unnerved by the presence of everyone in the plaza. There were way too many people walking about for her liking and she felt as though it would drive her insane. She found it funny how she didn't feel that way earlier when she first arrived and was on her way to the shoe store. The feeling of unease and discomfort just kind of showed up, so to speak.

_You will learn what it means to truly sacrifice yourself for others._

The baritone voice seemed to float with the breeze, right into Persia's ears like a poem. She was just about beyond startled as she halted abruptly and spun around on her heels, her eyes slightly widening as they darted about. Several other pedestrians gave her crazy, concerned stares, but were easily ignored. She searched for several seconds for the source of the voice that had spoken, her heart rate increasing now. Her unease and discomfort grew, expanding through every part of her body, causing even her breathing to change in rhythm. Her skin was slightly warmer despite the cold that was enveloping her body as if she'd stepped into the very valley of death. And as she stared forward at absolutely nothing but endless road, it seemed that _something _actually appeared to her vision.

Perched upon a lamp post with the calmest, yet most nerve-racking demeanor was a large, black bird and to Persia's surprise, its blood red, glowing eyes were fixed directly on her. It was located almost ten feet away and couldn't have been there before, for Persia could not remember ever noticing it. She felt something stir inside her as she gazed upon this bird and all of its sheer beauty. The way its sleek, black feathers sparkled under the gray daylight caught her attention like a million-dollar painting in an art gallery. They fascinated her, but at the same time, they frightened her. They possessed a hint of something serene, yet something dark. She couldn't look away. The sight of the black bird was simply drawing, pleasant rather. It was as if the bird itself had spoken and now they were sharing silent conversation.

While she seemed lost in the eyes of the bird, she felt her shoulder jerk backwards violently after someone bluntly bumped into her, causing her to take a couple of steps back. She snapped out of it immediately, her face reddening as she turned to face the stranger who was dressed rather blandly in a beige trench coat and black bowler hat. That was all she could see of him besides the long, wavy locks of blonde hair spilling past somewhat broad shoulders. She squinted at him, hoping he would turn his head and see the dirty look she was giving him, but when he did turn to look at her, he simply flashed her a grin and continued on. Persia's eyes widened the moment she glanced down at his lips and saw what was between them. Terribly sharp canines for a human being. She frowned before continuing up the sidewalk. Things got stranger and stranger the longer she stayed in Texas, she noticed.


	9. Chapter 9

Coffee with Stephanie was fine and dandy, but not enough to ease the mind of the man meant to suffer inside a cursed steel cell. Of all the years Hunter had been in the business, he'd witnessed just how horrifying and gruesome matches were inside Satan's structure. Especially with The Undertaker who's legend included fatal tales of how the cell was his playground. What belonged to the Devil belonged to the Deadman, as well. They practically went hand-in-hand like they would in a few minutes. Hunter held his head high regardless, refusing to let others see his anxiety of the night's events. Vince was on his mind, as well. The sick bastard set him up to this, no doubt. And was so cowardly as to send his son Shane to deliver the news to The Game instead of doing it face to face himself. Because he knew Hunter wouldn't hesitate to fuse a sledge hammer to the bitch's skull. The evil mastermind's daughter walked next to him upon entering the arena. Both were silent until Hunter felt inclined to say, "I bet you're wondering why I go through so much just to be with you."

Stephanie's hands were tucked into her coat pockets, the thick black and white fur collar blocking almost every part of her face except her deep green eyes which soon shifted toward Hunter, glittering under the ceiling light. Hunter smiled at her, somewhat comforted by her gaze, but at the same time, he was hiding his wariness from her. She knew him long enough to be able to identify it, however. "I used to." She replied in a gentle tone. "But the answer is evident everytime I look into your eyes, Hunter."

Hunter took a deep breath and reached out for her hand, not knowing that they were actually being watched from afar. Shane stood next to his limousine in the parking garage and while the duo made their way toward the entrance of the backstage area, he watched them intently. Making himself invisible by engaging himself in conversation with one of the referees that would be inside the cell during the main event. The referee was obviously scared, but half of Shane's heart was similar to his father's. He couldn't care less about the referee as long as Hunter got what he deserved. He could feel his blood boiling underneath his skin the second he saw Stephanie take Hunter's hand and her entire countenance lit up like a damn Christmas tree. _Love struck, bitch,_ he thought to himself, wanting to shake his head in disgust but didn't want to divert the ref's attention in the same direction.

"We probably shouldn't be seen together like this." Stephanie mentioned cautiously, looking around. She didn't even notice Shane. "I don't know how many spies my father has staked around here."

Hunter sighed and shook his head. "Sooner or later that man'll warm up to me. Until that time...he can kiss my ass. No offense."

"None taken. I just don't want you to have to go through so much because of me. I know my dad's not gonna listen to me if I tell him to stop fooling around with you. Feels like its all my fault why you're doing this."

"I'll be fine, Steph." Hunter nodded to her, but by the look on her face, he could tell she wasn't all that convinced. "I just need a plan."

They reached his locker room within a matter of minutes and were met by an ecstatic Shawn Michaels dressed in a pair of jeans and a white polo shirt. "Hunter! We gotta talk!" He grabbed Hunter and Stephanie by their hands and yanked them inside, racing behind them to slam the door shut. "Vince's gone fucking insane! You're gonna be in a Hell in a Cell match with the Undertaker!"

"I know, Shawn." Hunter replied.

"Just keep Chyna on your mind and I know you'll bust heads up in that bitch!"

At the mention of her name, Stephanie's head tilted in thought. She remembered Chyna and Sable's kidnap and realized that it'd happened for a reason. In fact that reason would be on its way to the arena at any moment. _He wants a trade more than anything. No...he wants _her _more than anything._

...

The cab pulled up in front of the arena just moments after the show actually started and out stepped Persia Winchester, her hair weaved into a neat bun. She was dressed casually in a pair of denim jeans and a white sweater, her make up and accessories done and applied perfectly just for the occasion. She didn't plan on going backstage that night. Her presence wasn't exactly needed. She simply wanted to support her friend Hunter. She turned in her tickets upon entering and made her way to the seating area. There were thousands of people arriving around the same time she was, getting food, drinks, and their seats. There was a lot of noise as usual. Nothing Persia wasn't used to. Thank goodness she'd remembered to take her pills before she came or the socialization would've made her hysterical by now.

She was lucky to have purchased floor seats. Although people had stated several times that that particular area was dangerous when the wrestlers got carried away. There had been stories of unplanned fan attacks, furniture flying over the barricade to hit some members of the audience, and other interesting tales. Not that any of them changed Persia's mind evidently. She sat quietly in her seat close to the end of the row, a man seated beside her sending her a polite smile. She smiled back before focusing her attention on the two men in the ring. One dressed in yellow, the other dressed in blue spandex. They both looked very much alike for opponents and could have been brothers if they weren't already. Their names were unknown since Persia came after their announced entrances.

Tonight, she carried a rather calm demeanor. She wasn't fidgety or childishly shy like she usually would have been in a large crowd filled with loud noise. In fact, the noise didn't bother her. Not a single tip of her nerves were on edge, no breath left her lips out of rhythm or shakenly. She felt like the Persia from the past before her mental insanity had settled in and before she had to retreat to a mental institution. That Persia who loved to socialize and hang out with several people at one time just for the bloody hell of it. It felt great. No paranoia. No unexpected coniptions. No panic attacks. _I'm just here to enjoy the show_, she told herself with a relaxing sigh, ever so slightly slumping down into her seat while crossing one leg over the other.

After the young wrestlers' match was over and the young man in the yellow spandex had won, the announcer's voice echoed from his microphone. "And the winner of this match as a result of one fall...Jeff Hardy!" There was an untimely collision of cheers and boos from the crowd while the young man staggered out of the ring, celebrating his victory by raising his right fist in the air. He was panting so hard and his face was so red it wouldn't have surprised anyone if he had passed out right then and there, but he was up the ramp in no time.

Soon after, the defeated young man left, as well, dragging himself along like a dead weight. He recieved a lot more boos than his opponent, obviously caring only about getting to a medic. He appeared a bit faint and drained and was holding the back of his head as if trying to keep it together. Once he disappeared, the man next to Persia spoke casually, "Jobbers' matches always suck. They might as well have cock fights out there in that ring."

Persia simply cast him a glance and faked a smile to try and seem polite. But ended up making eye contact a bit longer than she had intended. His facial structure made a bell go off in her head, the familiarity striking her almost instantly. Her smile somewhat faded until she was almost squinting at him, trying to take in all that she was seeing. He was undoubtedly young with a mostly shaved face, save for a bit of stubble. Brown eyes shown with character in Persia's direction and he returned her smile right after flipping his long, wavy dirty-blonde hair over his shoulder. From the looks of his build, he was an athletic man. Perhaps no older if not younger than Persia and quite charming. He was dressed in a black, leather trench coat, hands tucked into his pockets in a layed back manner. "Have we met before?" Persia asked him, her voice a bit soft.

The man tilted his head slightly. "I don't believe we have." He replied and something about the way his voice resonated in the air was suspicious. The notes seemed so Count Dracula-fashioned. "Care to tell me your name?"

"It's Persia." Persia was hesitant to respond.

"That's pretty." The man nodded once. Then stuck out his hand. "You can call me Adam. That's not what most people call me, but since you don't know me like that, I'll settle for Adam."

Persia shook his hand slowly, noting how cold his skin was in contrast to her comfortably warm flesh. "Nice meeting you, Adam." She spoke in a polite tone, keeping any hint of suspicion out of her voice. She could have sworn she'd seen this man someplace before, but despite her effort, she just couldn't recall where exactly. Something was telling her that it hadn't been too long ago...

_No chance...That's what you got._

_No chance._

Music blared throughout the arena so loudly it instantly snapped Persia out of her process of thought. Her head whipped around toward the ramp entrance where two new figures were now walking toward the ring. Both were dressed formally in different gray suits, appearing to look alike in facial features. Persia squinted at them, then the titantron hanging above the entrance now behind them where she saw, shinning in bright white letters, the names: Vince and Shane McMahon.

"I've heard of them before." She said aloud, more so to herself than anyone around her.

Adam responded anyhow. "Haven't we all? They're both the biggest jackasses on earth. Like father like son, is what they always say but its more than just them. Bull shit just runs through the family."

"You must really hate them." Persia almost chuckled, watching as the two men made their way into the ring. The man who stood much taller and appeared to have more matured features wore a smug grin on his face like he'd just gotten laid five minutes before his ring time. The younger man didn't appear to be too comfortable out there, however. He was probably disturbed by all the boos they were receiving.

"I'm not gonna lie to you." Adam agreed, leaning close to Persia as if to tell her something secretive. His next statement came out in a low tone, "Several murder attempts have been made on them, but it's like they're fucking immortal or something. They just don't go away. Do you think Heaven would reject them?"

Persia forced herself to laugh softly to keep from giving Adam a strange look. On the inside, she was halfway regretting sitting next to him. Then again, he was probably making a simple joke. Even still...what kind of joke was that?

"I bet they both taste just how they smell." Adam continued, making a face at the ring. "Like bull shit."

Persia began to feel a bit uncomfortable and wished with all she had for her bladder to feel at least a small inkling of a hint that it needed release or something to get her away from this strange blonde. She almost scooted away, but figured it would be rude and would offend him. So she simply tried to ignore him. Wondering how long that would work...

"I bet snake venom pumps through their veins instead of regular blood. Those guys just seethe with jackassness."

"Ladies and gentlemen, may we have your attention please." Vince McMahon's deep, slightly rough voice echoed from a microphone a nearby tech man had given him. "We're not here to tell you just how disgusting and unintelligent you are...nor are we here to tell you that you're only worth the money you pay us to see this show." Plenty of boos came in response to his crude statements, but he continued on with that smirk as if he could hear none of it. "In fact, we have great news to share with you all. As you can see right above me, we have ourselves a 20-foot, 1500 pound steel cage which means that tonight, you all are gonna witness an astounding, spectacular, unforgettable Hell in a Cell match right here in this ring! Right here in this arena! Get your cameras ready because this one's going down in history. For our main event tonight, fighting in this steel cell, we will have the Cerebral Assassin, Triple H-" An explosion of cheers broke him off unexpectedly. He waited patiently for the crowd to quiet down a bit before he continued. "Against one of my personal favorites...the Demon of Death Valley, the Minister of Darkness, the Deadman himself..." He paused very briefly to chuckle. It was a sinister chuckle that resonated over the audience like a ghost, devilish in nature as if what he was about to say next would shock the audience beyond words. His brows lifted tauntingly as he inclined his head forward and with a haughty spirit in evident in his demeanor and a proud tone, he finished his sentence, "The Undertaker!" The way the name came clawing up his throat and out of his mouth sent chills throughout the audience.

But when Persia heard that name, she felt more than just chills. She felt something rush through her entire body that almost made her jump from her seat, her throat running dry like an old well, her face feeling as though all the blood had been drained down to her feet. Her fingers instinctively clutched at the arms of her seat, the movement so swift it halfway startled Adam who simply chortled at her and frowned. "You alright there, jumpy?" His voice was only a buzz in her ears as her eyes widened ever so slightly and she could hear her heart thrumming in her chest like propellers on a helicopter. Nearly melting to her seat like heated metal, she swallowed hard. So hard even Adam could hear the liquidy noise it made in her throat from all the saliva she attempted to moisten the cracked velvet tunnel with. And all she could say to herself in just barely a hushed whisper were the words, "Sweet Jesus, Shepherd of Judaea..."

…...

"Hurry up, you fucking maggots." The Undertaker barked to his working entourage who had just pulled up behind the arena in a lengthy, black hearse, rushing out under their leader's command. A harsh gust of wind sent his hair jostling away from his agitated face, leading plenty of attention to the daunting tilt of his brows and the angry curve of his mouth.

The Ministry rushed to the back of the hearse where a leather-clad Viscera popped open the trunk, mentally cursing himself when he saw Taker's eyes shift toward him with a murderous glare. Noises immediately rose from the back of the hearse. Voices to be precise. Strangled voices which grew louder and louder the higher the lid of the trunk rose above the vehicle. Faarooq and Bradshaw bent over into the trunk with their arms outstretched, grabbing at two large items sprawled across the empty space. As they began dragging the objects out, they appeared to be having a bit of struggle like they were wrestling two fierce animals. In fact, what they were dragging out were quite equivalent to animals. Two women bound by chains around their wrists and shackles around their ankles. One brunette and one blonde. Both just barely clothed except for torn black gowns which hardly stretched down past their knees. They would have been screaming at the tops of their lungs were it not for the large, red ball gags stuffed nearly down their throats. Scars and bloodstains littered their once flawless skin, leaving them flawless no more but perhaps permanently marked. While tears poured down both of their faces, Faarooq and Bradshaw roughly tossed them over their shoulders, prepared to carry them to their doom.

"Don't be afraid, ladies." The Undertaker's deep voice drawled in the night. "Your survival depends on one soul. You'd better pray that soul takes up the opportunity or your end won't be pretty."

Exchanging glances, Chyna and Debra kicked and squirmed for dear life as the Ministry began toward the building.

Mideon pushed past the others to walk beside The Undertaker, his breath heaving slightly. Taker heard him and slowly glanced down at him, narrowing his eyes a bit only to add to the intimidation he already created. "She is here, Dark One." Mideon informed him quietly, his thin, wet hair swishing side to side against his slightly-chubby face. "I've seen her through Adam's eyes."

Taker drew in a breath through his nostrils, facing forward again. His expression showed no signs of amusement, but on the inside he was joyous. Adam, a.k.a. Edge had followed his instructions, after all. Becoming a spy to sit among the crowd and watch for the Minister's prize. Taker was lucky to have someone of Mideon's talent as a member of his unusual coven. He possessed what people liked to call a third eye. Once he was telepathically linked to someone, he could see what that person was seeing in that present moment. At times, Taker found himself being covetous toward this power, but he had to often remind himself that despite Mideon's gift, he was still the superior being. His link to the supernatural world was far greater than any man he'd ever met. He was proud of him, however. Proud of him and Edge for locating his prize. His pretty little culprit. His cold, dead hands were practically itching to get around her skinny, little neck and tear her throat out for her heinous crimes. _The world will never forget this night, _he told himself confidently. "Has Vince announced tonight's main event?" He asked Mideon, remembering his task.

Mideon nodded quickly, his head bouncing almost like a vibration. The man was just as sick as the rest of the cold-blooded killers of the Ministry. "Yes, sir." He replied with a bit of a hiss. "And may I say he is a lot more excited than we are."

"Of course he is." Taker snorted. "That evil bastard. He should know by now that I am doing this because I know I'll enjoy ripping Triple H apart limb by fucking limb."

Mideon nodded his head again. "And we will enjoy watching you, Dark One." He smiled wickedly.

Christian frowned a bit as he leaned toward Gangrel who was walking beside him, whispering in his ear, "There's something we aren't being told."

"I agree." Gangrel nodded once, referring to the first part of the conversation between Taker and Mideon. "If I had a third eye like _that _guy, I'd be willing to tell you what it is."

"But we don't." Christian sighed softly. "We're only so-called _gifted _because we aren't exactly 'human.' He pursed his lips together for a moment and stood up straight, shaking his head. "But I don't consider that a _gift _anyway."

Both young men glanced up just in time to see The Undertaker's shaded, green eye dart over his bulky, tattooed shoulder, resting heavily upon them. He was still walking forward while his head was turned, entering through the back door which was held open by his faithful favorite, Mideon. They were momentarily afraid that he had heard them, that they were not quiet enough and that they should have kept their words to themselves. But it wasn't exactly their fault. They just didn't see themselves as worthy enough to hear about _all _of the Deadman's plans. Neither did he.

Inside the building, many parted to let the Ministry pass and it was as if the very evil that hovered about them stained the atmosphere and caused lights to dim and cold air to rise on arrival. Like a dark cloud, they moved at one accord and were silent. The only sounds anyone could hear were the struggling, gagged voices of Chyna and Debra flopped over the shoulders of Faarooq and Bradshaw.

The Undertaker scanned the garage area, taking note of the eyes following him and his entourage. He couldn't help but notice a familiar group gathered a distance away, one of the largest in the group catching his attention the quickest. He was known as The Big Show, mainly because he stood well over seven feet tall and weighed a solid five-hundred pounds. Taker had had his feuds with the man, not that they would ever come to an end, but he was someone to keep an eye on. Someone who had the balls enough to come at the Ministry with his two partners in crime, Mankind and The Rock, with two-by-fours and attempt to crack open every single one of their skulls. Unfortunately for them, The Undertaker made sure he had the victory each time they had conflict.

They passed right by them with no words and it was a surprise that neither man in the group had attempted to come at them simply because they were holding two important women hostage. In fact, as they approached the backstage area, Taker wondered where Austin was to give him a good showdown for Debra.

"This just end!" A familiar voice rang in The Undertaker's eardrum, causing his head to turn swiftly. Vince McMahon with his bobble-headed son were walking briskly in their direction and, of course, Vince had a smile of wicked excitement on his face. "I just announced to the crowd tonight's main event. I hope you're ready to whoop some ass in that ring tonight!"

"I'm always ready." Taker growled lowly, cutting his eyes at him. He still didn't get the point of showing so much excitement. It wasn't like he was doing this to please Vince or Shane at all. "But let me remind you that I'm not following your orders tonight, Vincent."

Vince frowned at that, a bit confused. "What do you mean?" He asked.

"I'm only doing this for _my _pleasure." Taker stated gruffly. "All you've given me is opportunity to have my way with Triple H without being interrupted. I'm not doing any of this under your command."

"Oh..."Vince scratched the back of his neck, no longer smiling. "Well, I mean...that's fine." He swallowed and shook his head, returning the smile, but this time it was a bit weaker. "Just as long as Triple H gets what he damn well deserves tonight."

Taker snorted, giving Vince an intimidating once-over before walking past him, the rest of the Ministry following.

Minutes passed faster than the moon could fully rise, it seemed. The Ministry stood in their locker room congregated in a circle like a brotherhood having a sacred meeting. In the center of the circle sat Chyna and Debra, back to back and still bound like tamed animals, panting out of exhaustion from all the fighting. The Undertaker stooped down in front of the world's most dangerous woman, looking into her ferocious gaze, listening to her breath as it left her nostrils. "You both should be happy." He stated, reaching out to brush the back of his index finger against her cheek, but she instantly pulled away from him, her eyes never leaving his. She was practically glaring daggers through his skull. "The reason you both are under my grasp is in this very building tonight. But there's a catch. I can't go to her. She has to come to me. That's just the way it is, unfortunately. I'll be busy, though. Beating the living hell out of your precious Hunter Hearst Helmsley. I'm sure you've heard by now if the rest of these dickholes I call my minions haven't told you already." He chuckled a bit, a low, deep chuckle that rumbled within his throat, sending chills through Chyna's body. Chills of fear and anxiety. Her face went red as blood as she listened to the Deadman. That demonic sound sticking to her head like thumb tacks.

"I would tell you what I'm planning on doing to him tonight." Taker continued after a deep breath, resting his elbows on his bulging thighs. "But I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise. Hopefully you both have a good imagination. Oh, I know I can expect that from you, Chyna. According to Viscera, you're a pretty naughty girl."

Behind him, Viscera laughed a bit, his tongue tracing a line over his black upper lip. Chyna almost immediately lunged at Taker out of pure rage, but only to have her hair nearly snatched out of her scalp by Faarooq, her personal escort. He had caught her the second he detected movement, allowing her to come only within about an inch or half of that of Taker's proximity. "Ooh." Taker tsked, narrowing his eyes at her. "Naughty and feisty. I'm sure he's begging me to keep you around."

"It's almost time, Dark One." Mideon spoke up, not intending to interrupt but only to be informative. "However, I received word not too long ago that the rest of us are banned from ringside."

"What?" Taker shot to his full height and whirled on Mideon so fast it nearly knocked the shorter man over. "Was that Vince's idea?"

"I believe so, sir. He says he doesn't want any of us hurting anyone except Triple H. And with us standing around the cell, we'll eventually get bored and take our anger out on the extra refs and officials and tech crew and maybe the announcers. You know how we get when we're all in violent moods. Especially while we're watching our outstanding leader dominate his victims in the ring."

Taker looked around at the rest of his crew. "Fine." He snarled. "If they don't want to see our true power combined tonight, I'll give them something much worse inside the cell. This night will go down in history, boys. It'll be the last time Triple H sees a cell."

…...


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

_It's all about how you play the game, _Triple H told himself over and over again in his mind as he heard his renowned theme song split the anticipated silence that had once again settled over the arena. He shut his eyes for a moment, fighting to clear his mind of all negative thoughts because all he could see in his mind was a tombstone with his name on it. A match with the Undertaker...Hell in a Cell. What in the hell was Vince thinking?

"You can do this, Hunter?" Stephanie said from beside him, gently touching his arm. "I'll be watching to see you win."

That made Hunter feel worse. It was like he was under pressure now. Like the destiny of the universe rested in his hand. "Go on back to the locker room, Steph." He replied. "His goons tend do crazy stuff backstage when they're banned from ringside and I don't want you getting caught up in any mess again."

"Of course." Stephanie nodded, kissed him on the cheek, and left to return to the locker room. Usually she would have reported to the Chairman's office, but tonight, she didn't even want to see her father's face. _How could he be so evil, _she thought to herself, shaking her head with a sigh.

Half of the audience booed while the other have cheered as Triple H walked out onto the steel stage. He didn't bother with the formalities of his entrance, instead his focus was glued onto the enormous cell standing before him down the ramp. If he was crazy, he'd probably be seeing the devil himself ushering him inside the door and a host of his evil imps would be jabbing their flaming pitchforks at him from the turnbuckles. Despite the discomfort churning in the pit of his stomach, Hunter walked down the ramp with his head held high, smacking on his favorite Juicy Fruit bubble gum. Shawn had been banned from ringside, as well, to keep the conditions fair, so they decided to stay with Stephanie instead of walk him down to the ring. It felt strange not being with him and Chyna, but he forced himself to get over it. For Stephanie's sake. But most of all, for Persia, Debra and Chyna's sake.

The referees standing on either side of the cell door and the one standing inside the ring nodded to Hunter as he entered the Satanic metal structure. "I'm sure we don't have to go over regulations with you, Hunter. You already know the deal." One ref said to him.

Hunter fired him a nasty glare. "You just better make sure nobody gets in or out." He responded harshly. He climbed inside the ring while the refs simply shook their heads at him and began to warm himself up, jumping up and down to loosen up the muscles in his legs while throwing small punches in the air to practice striking precision. He lost count of how many prep talks he'd given himself, but at the moment, he knew he certainly needed them.

His theme music went off abruptly and the cheers of the audience slowly minimized. As soon as Hunter realized that the whole place was nearly silent, his attention immediately shot up toward the stage. The moment of truth had come.

Seconds passed and nothing had happened. Heads were beginning to turn in confusion, wondering why there was still silence. Even Hunter started to look around, praying silently that his opponent couldn't make it. But his prayer soon ceased when the lights shut off suddenly and a bell that rang with the melody of death echoed throughout the arena, sending shivers through his spine. He squinted through the thick, inky blackness toward the stage, knowing that soon his opponent would be walking toward him from that area. About thirty seconds passed, however, and no one was there. Hunter frowned.

The cell door suddenly swung shut with a loud clang, the locks fastening before any of the refs could stop them. Hunter's eyes widened in alarm as he looked down and saw the refs trying to pry the door open, but to no avail. "What the hell are you ass hats doing!" He bellowed, nearly panicking.

"We didn't close the door!" One ref shouted.

"Well, look for a damn key!" Hunter shouted back, frowning viciously.

The bell sounded again, the macabre tune lingering in the air to frighten those who had heard. For everyone who knew that sound well, there were all kinds of responses from good to bad to ugly. And not a soul stood unshaken.

Hunter stepped out of the ring and approached the cell door just as the refs began searching their pockets for the key.

"It's gone!" They exclaimed in shock. "Even the spares are gone!"

"What do you mean?" Hunter raised his voice at them again. "If you don't find that damn key, I'm gonna-"

"Woah! Look at that!"

Hunter whirled at the sound of the voice. He didn't even know where it came from, but he regretted hearing it. A split second after he had turned, a hot, sizzling lightning bolt struck the ring mat and exploded so loudly it caused every heart in the arena to flip. Hunter jumped so hard he stumbled back against the cell wall, his hands raised up in front of him to shield his eyes from the blinding light that had stunned him from the explosion. A strong smell of smoke wafted into his nostrils like something had caught on fire and when he lowered his arms to look, all he could see was black smoke hovering inside the ring. So thick he couldn't see through it. He eyed the smoke with an astonished expression, his chest heaving up and down where his heart raced furiously. And as soon as the smoke cleared away, the lights came flashing back on with a pop and Hunter felt a huge lump form in his throat.

As expected, although the extremity of his arrival had been quite _unexpected_, the Lord of Darkness now stood in the ring and it appeared that the black smoke had begun to take the shape of two large wings behind him. His daunting, acid green eyes instantly found Triple H where the frightened man stood and seemed to bore a hole right through him from the face of death himself, marked by a frighteningly devilish smirk. "Prepare," His deep voice reverberated from the very walls of the cell as he spoke in his most sadistic tone. "To spend an eternity...in Hell."

…...

Persia's heart pounded so hard in her chest she could hear the sound in her ears as her eyes beheld the enormous, demonic entity standing just as bold as sin inside the cell. She didn't realize that she had been holding her breath the whole time until she felt her lungs ache. Her fingers trembled against the arm rests on either side of her and she didn't see Adam smirking in her direction from the seat next to her. She looked like she was seeing a ghost.

"Do you need some fresh air? Water maybe?" He asked her, mischief hidden behind a tone of concern.

"N-no." Persia answered, then swallowed, shaking her head. "I'm fine. Thanks anyway."

"I see you're not a big fan of the Undertaker." Adam stated with a chuckle.

"How can you tell?" Persia sat back in her seat, forcing herself to relax. "Alright, maybe I am just a little thirsty."

"I'll get you something."Adam got up and started making his way toward the aisle.

"No. I can get it myself." Persia quickly grabbed him by his coat.

"Oh, but I insist. Besides, you don't look too well."

After staring at him for a long time and seeing the sincerity in his eyes, Persia decided to let him go, smiling weakly at him. "Well, okay. A Mountain Dew sounds good to me right about now."

Adam returned her smile with one of his own. "No problem, madam." And with that, he left quietly, his gaze lingering on her for a bit.

…...

Hunter forced himself to swallow. It was the only way he could allow air to pass through his throat as he stared back into the eyes of The Undertaker. Slowly but confidently, he climbed his way back into the ring to meet the dead man face to face. He had to let him know that he wasn't afraid of him. _I'm not afraid of death,_ he told himself. _I'm not afraid of death. _He could hear a deep, dark chuckle coming from the larger man's gullet as he watched him, probably thinking of all the horrifying crimes he could do to him in the match.

"I know you're here for more than just the opportunity to get at me, Deadman." Hunter spoke warningly. "So, I'm gonna let you know right now...you're not gonna get what you want. Not unless you fucking kill me."

"Hmm." Taker tilted his chin up a bit, sizing his opponent up. "That can be arranged."

Growing infuriated at the thought of Taker putting his hands on Persia, Hunter launched a punch at the larger man's face, hoping to fracture a jaw bone or something with the devastating blow. Unfortunately, Taker's reflexes were so fast that night, he simply caught him by the wrist and headbutted him square in the nose. Hunter stumbled back with a grunt, reaching up to clutch his aching nose. It wasn't bleeding. At least not yet, it wasn't. "You son of a bitch." He growled, lunging at Taker, this time with a swift left hook.

Taker lifted his arm and blocked the attack, then jabbed his own fist at Hunter's throat, knocking the wind right out of the man. Hunter coughed loudly as he stumbled backwards, holding his neck with one hand, his eyes wide in shock. He fell against the ropes, struggling to find the ability to breath again. He could see Taker slowly stalking toward him from the corner of his eye. As soon as he got close enough, Hunter kicked out with all his might, feeling the bottom of his boot connect with Taker's rockhard midsection. The large man let out a painful sound as he doubled forward and Hunter took the opportunity to uppercut him in the face. He fell so hard on his back the whole ring shook like an earthquake. But as soon as Hunter went for an elbow drop, Taker rolled out of the way, causing Hunter to land on solid mat instead. He winced as pain shot up his side, maiming him for just a few seconds.

Taker got to his feet. No longer smirking, but snarling like a vampire craving blood. He reached down and grabbed Hunter by the hair, ignoring the ref's remarks about it nearby. He couldn't be disqualified so he couldn't care less. Dragging Hunter to his feet, he harshly Irish-whipped him into the nearest turnbuckle, charged at him like a bull, and slammed all his weight into him. He caught Hunter beneath the arms just as the weakened man had begun to crumble and propped him back up on the corner. Posing as a professional boxer, Taker threw several rights and lefts at Hunter's body, rocking him all over. He'd only taken several before he finally fell face flat on the mat. "I have good news for you, Helmsley." Taker growled, that devilish smirk returning to his features.

Hunter let out a choked cough in response, trying to crawl away from the Deadman.

"You have guests here to watch you suffer the worst ass kicking of your entire existence." He bent down to grab Hunter by his hair once again and force him to his feet. Hunter hardly gave a decent fight as he was dragged all the way to the ropes and tossed out like a sack of dead meat. Taker climbed out after him, grabbed him off the cement floor and forced him against the cell door, pressing his face against the cold steel so that he could see clearly through them. Hunter instinctively looked up the ramp, seeing nothing special there at first, but then movement caught his eye that he soon wished he didn't see. It was Faarooq and Bradshaw, also known as the Acolytes, and to his astonishment, they were each dragging two women by long, silver chains that were fastened to thick, black collars around their necks. Both women were dressed in nothing but latex lingerie like street whores, covered in small cuts and bruises. They were both gagged, their wrists shackled behind their backs and their skin soaked in sweat. It was no doubt that they had been used merchandise and nothing but play toys for those animals known as the Ministry of Darkness. And it took Triple H no longer than a second to recognize who they were.

"Oh, my God." He gasped, anger awakening inside him. "Chyna...Sable. No!"

"Wouldn't you agree that they're simply ecstatic to see you?" Taker taunted, licking his lips.

But Hunter didn't see ecstasy at all. All he could see were the tears pouring down their faces and their expressions of desperation. "You sick fuck! What have you done to them!" Hunter shouted against the cold steel of the cell.

"Don't worry. I didn't even waste my time with whores like them. My minions on the other hand-" He stopped the let out a devious chortle.

The second it reached Hunter's ears, something in him snapped. He spun right out of Taker's grasp, which alarmed the larger man a bit, and caught him across the face with a powerful uppercut. Taker's head snapped back instantly and he fell back against the ring apron, seeing flashing lights dance across his eyesight for a second or two. By the time he shook the hit off, Hunter was digging under the ring trying to find himself a nice weapon to shove up the bastard's cold dead ass. Taker roused himself, angered now, stalking toward his opponent. But before he could reach him and do some damage, Hunter ripped a huge sledgehammer from under the ring and jabbed it forward, planting it in Taker's stomach. He doubled forward in pain and grabbed the sledgehammer, prying it from Hunter's hands before he could do anything else with it. "You'll regret ever letting this thing touch me, you son of a bitch." He snarled viciously at him.

"Bring it on, you overgrown Marilyn Manson!" Hunter barked his response.

Raising the sledgehammer in the air, Taker brought it straight down toward the top of Hunter's head, missing by just barely inches as Hunter jumped backwards to dodge it. Unfortunately for him, the cell wall was right behind him and he collided with it, frozen against it just long enough for Taker to ram the head of the sledgehammer into his gut. It struck him so hard he could have sworn his entire ribcage had shattered under the force, excruciating pain shooting through his entire midsection. He grabbed himself around the waist as he fell forward against Taker, his face reddening as he began to cough violently. Taker caught him with just one arm and pushed him back against the wall, holding him still with one hand around his neck. "Didn't I tell you, boy?" He growled, malice flashing across his eyes. He released his neck, allowing Hunter to slowly slump down the wall. Only to grip the deadly weapon with both hands, bring it almost behind him and swing with all his might toward his opponent. Audible gasps and noises of shock exploded from the audience as the sledgehammer cracked against the side of Hunter's skull, sending him spiraling to the ground.

Taker held back a demonic grin as he bent down to grab himself a handful of Hunter's hair, raising his head up to check the damage. So far, there was an enormous gash running down the side of his head, spitting blood drop by thick, crimson drop. The sight of his enemy's blood aroused him. Awakened a monster inside him that could never be tamed; could never cease its deadly lust for blood and anarchy.

Tossing the sledgehammer to the ground, Taker hauled Hunter up by his hair and dragged him all the way to the ring. The smell of his blood filled the Deadman's nostrils as his head lay against his well-muscled, pleather-clad chest. He tossed the half-conscious man into the ring, watching with glee as the limp body rolled across the mat like a sack of dead meat. Then, licking his lips maliciously, he slithered into the ring himself like a snake about to make a deadly attack on its prey. Hunter groaned, knowing that he was lucky to still be alive after a headshot like that from the Undertaker. The man had the strength of a god and if he wanted to, he could have split his entire head open like a damn coconut. As he began pushing himself to his feet, he once again felt Taker's hand in his hair, pulling so harshly it caused him to wince in pain. His blood felt warm and thick against the side of his face and he stuck his tongue out to taste the realness of it, hardly believing that he had been busted open this early into the match. _You can't afford to lose, Hunter, _he told himself in his mind as Taker forced him to his feet. _So many lives depend on you._

The second he figured he had motivated himself with that thought, he whipped himself around to face the big man and threw a hard punch at his jaw. The speed and strength behind the blow was enough to send Taker stumbling back against the nearest turnbuckle, giving Hunter more than enough opportunity. He ran forward as fast as his legs could carry him, slamming all of his weight into the larger man. A loud grunt burst from his lungs before Taker slumped forward with a worn expression, struggling now to regain his ability to breathe. He backed up a good distance, preparing to repeat the previous action, when suddenly, Taker charged forward and tackled him to the mat, all 300 pounds of him just about crushing Hunter beneath. Almost instantly, punches and blows began raining down on him from seemingly everywhere. So hard and fast it was nearly impossible to block. He felt the pain rocking his skull like nothing he'd ever felt before, his own blood splattering in all directions from the constant hits, staining the white mat beneath them.

Taker beat him mercilessly for a moment more until the poor man could do nothing more than lay there nearly unconscious. He felt as though he'd been attacked by a horde of angry horses, all stomping and trampling him beneath their hooves like he was nothing but a pile of shit on grass. The world spun around him, blurring his reality. He could hardly tell whether or not he was still alive or perhaps just barely hanging in there. The Undertaker stood and left the ring to catch his breath after that workout he'd just been through. His skin now slick with sweat, his long, wavy locks stuck to his face, moving back and forth as he breathed deeply. His acid green eyes surveyed the crowd through the square holes of the cell, watching their negative and positive reactions.

A quiet groan behind him let him know that his opponent was still living after his beat down. Growling inwardly in annoyance, Taker turned slowly to face the ring, watching as Triple H rolled over onto his side and cupped his face with one hand, blood pouring between his fingers. The sight of his blood was rather invigorating and Taker could feel his own blood pumping through his veins, every fiber of his twisted, evil being begging to be satisfied with the taking of a soul. Obeying his inhuman urges, The Undertaker slid back into the ring, standing to his feet to approach Hunter. He could see the persistence in the man in the fact that he was now trying to get up. As badly as it hurt him, Triple H was forcing himself to his feet, ready to face the Phenom like no man ever could.

"Stay down!" Shouted Taker between gritted teeth. "Goddamnit, stay down!"

But it was no surprise that Hunter did the opposite of what he was told, and as soon as he got to his feet, Taker grabbed his arm and Irish-whipped him into the ropes. Hunter felt as though he was weightless as he sailed across the ring, hit the ropes, and came snapping back toward Taker before he even realized what'd happened. Only to meet the larger man's massive, tattooed arm on the way back. He grunted loudly as he nearly did a complete backflip before landing hard on his back, his skull bouncing off the mat with a _thunk. _With the world once again spinning around him, him simply lay there, giving himself time to regain his bearings.

Taker appeared to be amused now, a wicked grin just barely lifting the corner of those cursed lips and his entire body pulsated with sadistic pleasure. "And it only gets worse from here, Helmsley." He said to the poor man sprawled out at his feet, a deep, dark chuckle resonating in his throat.

…...


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Chatter, chatter, chatter. That was all that went on backstage. Never anything exciting except the annoying gossip of the women and the men bragging about their steroid-pumped bodies. Boring! Edge snorted as he passed by a group of chattering wrestlers who, as usual, gave him some form of a nasty look. He called it 'the eyes of jealousy' because he knew just how goddamn good lookin' he was. So they had every right to be jealous.

"Pricks..." He muttered under his breath.

A shrill cry suddenly echoed from somewhere down the hall. Edge halted with a start before taking off running in the direction of the noise. In no time, he had come to an abrupt halt in a dimly lit corridor, wide eyes staring ahead at a rather gruesome sight. "Ah, come on!" He groaned irritantly. "Not here, man!"

It wasn't much of a surprise but rather unexpected that Gangrel had a woman pinned to the wall in the dark, one hand hiking up her short dress while the other had a handful of her curly, blonde hair. Her head was pulled sideways, the angle looking rather painful, her neck fully exposed to the sharp teeth protruding from Gangrel's blood-soaked lips. "Y'know, Gangrel, they have allies for this kinda thing." Edge rolled his eyes as he watched Gangrel gorge himself on the woman's blood.

Gangrel threw his head back dramatically, a loud hiss escaping his lips as his fangs were forcibly yanked from satisfaction. Pale, blue eyes met Edge as his head turned to look at him, first full of hunger, then lighting up with an arrogant grin. "The streets don't feed us like these show girls do, Brother." He exploded into laughter, soon plunging his teeth right back into the woman's neck.

Edge cringed as she moaned loudly, her eyes staring off in a daze. Like she was dying...

"Y'know, sometimes when they moan and scream, they're not telling you to continue." Edge informed, looking over his shoulders to see if there was anyone nearby. "And, unfortunately, now that she knows what you are...you're gonna have to kill her."

Gangrel lifted his head again, just enough to give the girl a break, his eyes staring coldly at her torn flesh. He growled quietly, knowing Edge was right. "Damnit!" He shouted, suddenly tossing the woman to the floor. She fell with a shriek, her heavy breaths the only indication that she was fighting for her life, other than her slow, lifeless movements. Edge looked at her worriedly, before his attention returned to Gangrel who was now leaning forward with his hands on the wall. "It's getting old, Edge." He said, shaking his head slowly. "It's getting real goddamn old."

"What is?" Edge asked, but something in him already knew the answer.

"Hiding!" Gangrel whirled around with a loud hiss, his fangs still greatly extended so he looked like something fresh out of a Dracula film, especially with the amount of blood staining the front of his 1700s blouse. "Shouldn't we be proud of who we are, Brother?" He eyed Edge sternly. "When I created you and Christian, I never intended for you two to be so...ashamed of yourselves."

"We aren't ashamed." Edge frowned. "It would just...catch the world off guard a little if they were to find out that the blood you spit in the air for show is real and we truly are..." He stopped.

"See?!" Gangrel raised his voice. "You can't even say it!"

"I was getting to it." Edge sighed.

"Then say it, Edge! What are we!"

Edge muttered something in response, his eyes trailing off. Gangrel cupped his hand behind his ear almost mockingly. "What, Edge? I didn't hear ya. What's that you said?"

Edge muttered it again.

"Louder!" Gangrel suddenly shouted, causing Edge to jump.

"Vampires, damnit! We're mother fucking vampires!" Edge shouted back, his hands balling into fists. He released a deep breath, returning himself to a cool demeanor. "Can we get somewhere a bit more private now? I don't want someone to come back here and hear us."

Gangrel stared at him for a moment, then frowned. "Where the hell have you been? You smell like Bed Bath & Beyond."

"She's here. I can smell her on me, too."

"What? Who?"

"You don't remember?" Edge flailed. "The girl who stood up to us while we were kidnapping Debra and Chyna?"

Gangrel's eyes widened as a toothy grin spread across his blood-stained lips. "The one Taker was talking about in the ring?" He bent forward with the volume of his laughter, slapping himself across the thigh. "Hot damn!" He shouted. "You thought this chick right here was moaning and screaming? Leave me in a dark room with her and you'll hear some _real _moaning and screaming."

Edge grimaced. "Focus, man!" He snapped his fingers in Gangrel's face, getting his attention instantly. "There's a specific reason why Taker wants her. He hasn't told us...not yet. But it probably as something to do with Paul Bearer's attack. In other words, if we get the girl, vengeance is ours. But-"

"Well, let's get her! Where is she?" Gangrel started to leave when Edge grabbed his arm to stop him. "We can't just snatch her ass up like we did Debra and Chyna. She has to come _willingly._ Not to us either. She has to go to Taker."

Gangrel squinted in confusion. "What're the chances of her _willingly _giving herself to the Undertaker? Thought about that? Last time I checked, he scared her shitless."

"Exactly. But that's why Chyna and Debra are out there to help her make a final decision. Plus, Taker's beating the shit out of Hunter like he's never done before because he knows they have some kind of connection. Like a close friendship, maybe. Come on, Gangrel. You have to put two and two together. Taker's not easy to figure out, but this one's pretty simple. The girl just needs a bit more...coaxing." The word dripped from his lips like venom as a snake-like grin spread across his lips, exposing his own small pair of fangs.

"Coaxing?" Gangrel cocked his head, somewhat knowing where is Brother was going with this.

Edge then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small pill bottle, but it wasn't a bunch of capsules sealed up inside the bottle. Instead, it was a thick, crimson substance sloshing around with his every movement. "You know what they say about vampire blood." He chuckled darkly. "It works better than any crystal meth, crack, pot, you name it. This'll help her...think things through."

At that, both men shared laughter that could only be described as evil.

…...

Persia shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes darting left and right as fans made unwelcome comments about the match all around her. Shouting stuff like, "Taker's gonna turn that mother fucker inside out!" and "Yeah, the Dark Side rules! All hail the Lord of Darkness!" They were mostly drunk, teenaged boys hyped up on the adrenaline the show fed them, brainwashed into believing that the demonic entity inside that cell was some kind of...savior. Some kind of idle.

The match was getting harder and harder to watch. On top of the fact that the Undertaker hardly knew the meaning of the word "mercy" and was practically killing Triple H, the Acolytes had brought out Chyna and Debra in shackles to watch the brutality. Not that they were paying more attention to the match than their own bondage. They looked like kicked puppies out there, gagged and crying, begging for freedom. And it was all in one person's hands.

Persia's grip tightened on the arms of her seat as she seemed to sink backwards. Paranoia now haunted her in a thick cloud, causing her to feel as though the entire arena was watching her. Waiting on her to make a move and put an end to all the madness. After all, it was her fault. She was the reason why Chyna and Debra had gotten kidnapped and the reason why Hunter was getting his ass handed to him on a golden platter. That sick freak known as the Undertaker wanted her, but why? What the hell did she do to grab attention from someone like him? Someone so evil and vicious.

She swallowed, her throat feeling dry. _Where's my damn Mountain Dew?_ She wondered.

And as if on cue, "Sorry I took so long." She heard a voice from beside her and instantly jumped with a start.

Adam plopped back down in his seat next to her, holding up the ice cold bottle of Mountain Dew she had requested. He had an apologetic smile on his face, his eyes just as warm and gentle as when he first introduced himself to her. Persia took the drink, forcing herself to laugh off how badly he'd frightened her with his sudden appearance. She didn't even see the others in the row move to let him through. "Thanks." She said, taking the bottle from him. "I thought you'd forgotten about me."

"Oh, no, not at all. I had to speak with a friend out in the hallway about...business that needed to be handled."

"Is everything alright?" Persia wondered, frowning a bit.

"Yeah, of course." Adam nodded. "Now you just sit back, relax, and enjoy the show."

Persia noticed the way those last few words came out in a bit of a hiss, but ignored it, telling herself that she was probably going crazy again. She twisted open the bottle, heard a faint hiss from the pressure release and put it up to her lips, unaware that Adam was watching her the whole time. Waiting and anticipating. _She has absolutely no idea..._he thought to himself, an almost invisible grin twisting his features.

She paused and looked at him, arching a brow as if to say, "Do you mind?"

Edge looked confused for a second, until he realized that he was sitting forward practically in her face. "Oh, so sorry." He laughed nervously, immediately sitting back in his seat and looking straight ahead, his eyes eventually shifting back to her. He had to watch every second of what was about to happen, knowing that Taker would be so goddamn proud.

"It smells a little odd." Persia frowned, staring down at the bottle. "Do you think they added a new ingredient or something?"

Edge rolled his eyes. "I don't think so." He forced himself to sound...nice. "But who knows. I had one myself earlier today and it tasted about the same to me. Delicious, as usual."

"Hmm." Persia hummed to herself in thought, then shrugged. "If you say so." And then took a gulp.

Edge slowly turned his head to look at her, a bit disappointed when she only looked down at the bottle with an approving nod. "Are you sure it tasted the same? Cause this is the best tasting bottle of Mountain Dew I've ever ha-" She stopped suddenly, her voice trailing off as her eyes snapped up to look straight ahead. Edge continued to stare, curiosity setting in now. Focus vanished from her eyes just like that, a distant, almost empty stare coming in to replace it. She had frozen in that position, holding the bottle in front of her for what seemed like an eternity although it was only about ten seconds. And then..._splash!_

The woman seated on the other side of Persia jumped with a gasp as Mountain Dew hit the floor and splashed onto her new alligator-skin shoes. "Well, I never!" Edge heard her say, but was too busy staring at Persia to respond or even look in the woman's direction. Was his idea...working? "Persia?" He said her name.

No response. She didn't move or blink. Only continued to sit frozen, her blank eyes staring straight ahead into the cell.

_Yes! Now, you're mine! _

…...

_Black and white was all her eyes could see, little white snow flakes raining gracefully from a gray sky bleeding into a black horizon. Stretching for what seemed like miles was nothing but tall, gray blades of grass, dancing in the wind. It looked cold, but she couldn't feel it. She felt like air, bodiless, weightless, simply floating through time like a ghost. The trees danced, too. Tall, eerie, crooked, grotesque, croaking trees reaching to stab the dying, gray sky and the thick clouds that rolled slowly across._

_She didn't know how she got here, or how she was going to leave, but while her mind was panicking, all her body wanted to do was...dance? And so she did. The snow was soft as cotton beneath her bare feet as she began to twirl and sashay, much like the ballerinas she used to admire when she was a child. She'd always wanted to be the little princess who fell in love with the handsome Nutcracker. Her expression was blank, mindless, faceless. Out of it, she just moved with the music of the wind howling through the dead trees. "I'm so pretty. Oh, so pretty." Her voice echoed through her mind as her eyes fell shut and the impulse swayed her, taking her through the snowy forest. Yes...that was where she was. A snowy forest. _

_She cradled her arms around herself, spinning around and around, not knowing why she wanted so badly was to just dance but the feeling was heavenly. Like she was floating on a cloud. And she felt so...pretty. Like mother used to call her. Such a pretty little girl, she would say. _

"_But I want to be a ballerina, Mother." She spoke just barely above a whisper, stopping when a sound echoed suddenly through the woods. She wasn't startled, rather curious as to what it was and where it came from. The question was answered soon enough when a majestic, winged creature landed upon a tree branch nearby, instantly drawing her eyes. A little black bird._

"_Why, hello." She felt herself smile, but not on her own. "Tell me, little black birdie, do you think I'm pretty enough to be a ballerina princess?"_

_The bird cawed once, red eyes settling on her dangerously. And then it took off, flying toward the black horizon._

"_Wait." She called out, her voice windy, drunken. "Come back. Don't you want to play with me?" She ran after it, her feet making soft crunchy sounds in the snow. "Don't you want to dance with me?" Jumping over fallen logs and pushing through deep pits, she followed the bird until she could see what appeared to be a lake up ahead. "The water." She whispered. "It's so pretty."_

_And it was in her deranged eyes, a pool of crimson shimmering beneath the gray clouds. Like blood._

…...

Hunter could see stars dancing behind his half-lidded eyes as he felt blow after blow knock his head left and right, his jaws throbbing in pain. Probably fractured, dislocating or something. Before him, Taker was seething, his arrogance and pride building with each infliction of pain he gave Triple H. After just about pounding his face into an unrecognizable mess of oozing flesh, he grabbed the man by his hair and sent his knee straight up into his gut. Over and over and over again, nearly chuckling as Hunter jumped up and down with each blow he took.

Needing a break now, Taker used one hand to hold him up against the cell wall, looking around for more torture devices. Those sinister, acid green eyes of his soon landed on the steel stairway laying upturned nearby, just waiting to be further utilized to the Undertaker's pleasure. With nearly all his strength, Taker threw Hunter by his hair straight into the steel steps, satisfied when he heard a loud crash and nearly the entire arena saying, "Oooh!" In response.

Hunter simply lay facedown on the steps, his body broken, beaten, bloodied, bruised. Not even fully aware of what he was being put through because he was so out of it. One thing he was aware of was that Stephanie was probably watching. Horrified, wishing that she could somehow get him out of the Deadman's grasp. Her name tumbled out of his mouth very weakly, just barely audible enough for anyone to hear, but somehow Taker had approached just in time to hear it. He chuckled, a dark sinister sound that was frightening to all ears, bending down to grab Hunter by his hair again. "What's that, Helmsley?" He yanked the blonde's head up so that his lips were right next to his ear. "Do you want your precious Stephanie McMahon to come save you?" His eyes rolled back as he snarled viciously, a low growl rumbling in the base of his throat before he then shouted, "You weak, pathetic shit!" And sent his heavy, booted foot into Hunter's ribcage.

Hunter jumped, his arms immediately wrapping around his aching midsection as Taker allowed him to roll onto the floor, agonized grunts and groans leaving his lips. Taker frowned at him, placing his hands on his hips for a moment. Hunter was usually the one to give him a pretty decent fight, but tonight it was different. It was evident that Taker had gotten stronger ever since he sold his soul to the dark side, but even still, Hunter was tough as an ox. He wasn't showing that tonight, however. Why? Taker wanted to know why he wasn't seeing The Game. The Cerebral Assassin he'd gotten used to over the years. Perhaps Hunter didn't care to beat him. Perhaps, all he wanted to do was keep Taker as far away from the people he loved as he possibly could. Perhaps, he was sacrificing himself for their sake.

Taker's brows furrowed at that thought. This foolish imbecile was allowing himself to be used as a human punching back just to protect...the girl.

Taker growled as he grabbed Hunter and rolled him back into the ring. He was just about to climb under the ropes himself when he suddenly stopped, one leg propped up against the ring apron. His eyes squinted at a rather peculiar sight he caught among the crowd, a series of movements coming from several people all at once. Not just ordinary fans, but security guards. They were rushing down the aisle toward someone and when Taker lowered his gaze a bit, he saw exactly who they were after. A woman was making her way down, appearing to be headed right for the cell and she wasn't just simply walking. She was dancing down the steps, not missing a single one despite her drunken movements. She looked ridiculous and, in fact, had plenty of people from the audience both laughing and staring at her as if she'd gone mad.

_What in the hell is that bitch doing?_ Taker thought, and then realization dawned in his eyes.

…...

Stephanie gasped loudly. "Shawn!" She shouted across the room at the Heartbreak Kid who was lacing up his wrestling boots.

He immediately jumped up and rushed toward Stephanie who sat on the couch with her eyes glued to the television on a cart in front of her. "Shawn, she's doing it!" She sounded horrified.

"Doing what?" Shawn asked, his tone frantic as he dropped down next to her to see what she was talking about. His heart dropped into his stomach when he saw the cameras pointed toward the crowd where a drunk-looking Persia was now fighting through security guards to get over the barricade. She had a dazed look on her face, as well as a drunken smile like she was seeing little canaries dancing in circles around her head.

"What the hell does she think she's-" Shawn jumped to his feet and rushed toward the door, grabbing the knob and throwing it open. Just as he had, he was met with a big, white fist, cracking him right on the side of the head.

Stephanie screamed as he crumpled to the floor, Stone Cold Steve Austin now standing over him with a vicious look on his face. "I ain't gonna let you get Debra hurt, ya son of a bitch!" He shouted down at the unconscious man.

"Austin, what the hell is wrong with you!?" Stephanie bellowed, scooting back into the couch, a look of horror on her face.

"You want yer little Chyna ta walk outta here alive?" Austin raised his finger at her, his brows raising authoritatively. "Then I suggest you listen ta good advice and keep away from that damn ring! If any of us interferes, Taker has the permission to hurt Chyna and Debra."

"What? But-"

"Shut yer damn mouth and help me haul this sumbitch onto the sofa, ya hear?"

Stephanie didn't move, her eyes wide as she stared at Austin, heavy breaths making her chest bound up and down rapidly.

"Now!" Austin shouted, glad when Stephanie came clicking across the room in her noisy heels to obey. Once Shawn was on the couch, Stephanie began to pace about frantically, inwardly panicking. Austin could see that it was taking every ounce of her strength to keep from running out of the room.

"She's insane! She's completely _fucking _insane!" She suddenly yelled, throwing her hands about furiously. "Austin, we have to do something. If we don't, Taker won't hesitate to pop her head right off her shoulders like a Barbie doll. She's diving head first into the deep end out there, Austin!"

"I don't care what the fuck he does to her!" Austin yelled back. "I just want Debra out of harms way! Understand?"

"You selfish son of a bitch!" Stephanie screamed, causing Austin to wince. "Chyna, Hunter, and Persia are in deep shit themselves and all you care about is fucking Debra Marshall!?" She was two seconds away from slapping some sense into the man.

"I don't see why you give such a fuck about the girl when she was only gonna take Hunter from ya anyway." Austin jabbed his hands to his hips, craning his neck forward to further emphasize the seriousness of his point.

"Excuse me?" Stephanie wrinkled her face at him, confusion in her eyes.

"Damn, you're one dumb broad, ain't ya." Austin almost laughed. "You saw the way that sumbitch would look at her every time she came around. Like he was seein' heaven walkin' around in Calvin Klein heels. You save the girl and Hunter'll be all over her like salt on a peanut."

Stephanie's eyes narrowed, something furious flashing across her eyes. Was that really what was going on or was Austin just trying to mess with her head? Her gaze flickered toward the television, eyebrows raising when she saw the Undertaker simply standing before the cell wall with his hands on his hips, watching with a frown on his face as Persia somehow pulled through the security guards and fell onto the concrete on the other side of the baricade. "I don't believe you, Austin." She practically hissed at the Texan who was now folding his arms across his chest.

"Hey, you don't have ta believe me, darlin'. Just ask Shawn when his dumb ass wakes up. He sure as hell ain't good at lyin' either."

Stephanie glanced at Shawn, her hands finding her hips as she shifted her weight to one leg, tapping her foot on the floor as she thought about what Austin was telling her. It couldn't have been true. Austin was just trying to get to her, trying to weaken her mind, but she wasn't having it. Then again, Persia was absolutely gorgeous, capable of getting any man she wanted if she tried. On top of that, Stephanie had her little hunches about her being a bit sneaky at times, secretive and mysterious. No. She mentally slapped herself, pushing Austin's words out of her mind. _Hunter is mine. No one else's. Don't listen to this buffoon. He's trying to turn you against Persia. He can't win right now. What matters most is that Chyna, Debra, and Hunter are safe. Right...?_

…...

Taker was both amused and baffled by what he was now witnessing. Not only did this little petite woman fight through about five enormous security guards, but she was now having them chase her around the goddamn cell. And where were her goddamn shoes? Did she have any sort of decency? He followed her with his predatory gaze, as she ran all the way around to the front of the cell, broke through a group of alarmed officials and continued to run like a little kid chasing a beach ball down a hill. The security guards were infuriated, one of them ripping a walkie-talkie from his hip to call for backup because, quite obviously, the five running after her at the moment were incapable of keeping up.

He heard something from behind, a faint groan followed by extremely heavy breathing. He turned slowly, spotting a half-dead Triple H making his way toward him, arms dangling from his slumped and bloodied body as half-lidded, yet determined eyes met acid green ones. Taker snarled in disgust at the zombie-like creature, dragging a chair out from beneath the ring with his foot. "Coming back for more, Helmsley?" He tilted his head in a taunting manner as he stomped on the edge of the chair, causing it to bounce right up into his hand. "Showing me you got a set?" He gripped the chair with both hands and took three steps forward, his long strides enabling him to reach Hunter quickly and easily. "Well," He lifted the chair back, his eyes flashing with malice as he aimed. "Mine are ten times bigger, boy!" _Thwack!_

Hunter was immediately sent flying from the impact of the chair as metal met his skull. Taker had swung it so hard that he was pretty sure he fractured something. He could hear the crowd roaring, pumped and riled up by the violence and brutality. Especially his Creatures of the Night who adored his every move. He lifted the chair above his head, prepared to pound Triple H into the ground with it when a series of shouts caught his attention. He froze with the chair in the air, turning his head in time to see the woman quite literally fly past the cell door, and twice the amount of security guards were now running after her.

The strangest part was that time seemed to slow down just for her head to turn to look at him. The moment he saw those ocean blue eyes, he was rooted. _It's you!_ His mind roared as he threw the chair to the floor and went for the cell door, wrapping his fingers around the metal.

"Hey! Hey! Hey! You can't do that, man!" The referee who had been mostly hiding outside the cell shouted as he grabbed the other side of the door, knowing exactly what Taker was going to do.

All it took was for Taker to buck himself forward with a vicious snarl and the referee immediately backed up, obviously knowing what was good for him. Taker could hear that the commotion had now gotten behind the cell. His muscles worked all along his massive arms and shoulders as he began pulling on the door, strength that could only be described as inhuman popping it right off the hinges and tossing it right behind him. More referees rushed forward with hands raised, all talking at once to try and convince him to get back into the cell and finish the match. Apparently, that wasn't happening.

Taker snarled as the jumble of commands and voices stabbed at his ears, instantly setting him off. One massive hand lashed out, palming the referee directly in front of him in the face. The others jumped back as the small man was sent sprawling to the floor, eyes widening as they stared at the angry Deadman. The bastards should've known better, Taker thought as he turned away from them just in time to see the woman running along the side of the cell. At any second, all of them would come bolting around the corner and Taker would be caught up in a train wreck, yet he decided that he would meat them head-on. Like a boss.

"Ma'am, we're gonna have you placed under arrest if you don't stop this instant!" He heard one security guard shout, but the woman didn't stop. She ran even faster, giggling madly like a school girl.

Taker rounded the corner himself in that instant, his chin low as he glared right past the woman at the security guards from beneath furrowed brows. With his shoulders bounding up and down with deep, steady breaths and his teeth showing through that vicious snarl of his, murder was written all over the hulking mass of a man. The security guards, all ten of them, almost instantly halted when they saw who had appeared around the corner of the cell, his cold glare sending chills through each and every spine in the group. It was then that he felt the woman run right into him, bouncing off of his solid form without even moving him an inch. She went sprawling to the floor, shrieking as her feet flew up over her head and she nearly completed a backwards somersault.

"S-sir." One security guard stepped forward slowly and hesitantly, holding one hand out to The Undertaker to signify that he meant no harm toward the much larger man. "If you don't mind, this woman needs to be detained."

The Undertaker took one step forward, and despite how small the movement was, the security guard still jumped back like he'd pulled a gun on him. "Touch her...and I'll break your little arms and tie them in knots around your pudgy ass like a goddamn straitjacket." Came his frightening response.

The smaller man swallowed, waving off the others without looking away from the Undertaker. He took another step forward and they all split like bananas, high-tailing their asses right back over the barricades to finish doing their jobs. There was no hint of amusement in those acid green eyes as they followed each security guard until they were a good distance away. Good. He hated the brutes because they were the main ones sent to get in his way whenever he was on the verge of killing a bitch all up and down the arena. And speaking of bitches...

A loud giggle rang in his ears from below, catching him a bit off guard. He'd forgotten the little blue-eyed killer was on the floor, his cold gaze lowering to glare fire and daggers at her. Strangely, that red-rimmed gaze of hers seemed to look right past the fact that there was a massive monster in front of her with every intent of crushing her beneath his big boot, because she was still giggling. In fact, she was sitting at his feet Indian-style, rocking back and forth with her hands clasped at her ankles, her eyes twinkling with the innocence of a child. "Now, will you dance with me, Mr. Blackbird?" She said in a childish voice. "I bet you dance like a pretty ballerina princess, too."

Taker snarled in disgust before bending down with a snap to grab her by the collar of her white sweater and pull her face-to-face with him. Her pupils were dilated and her head just lolled about while she giggled uncontrollably. There was only explanation for this kind of behavior. She was high as a kite. "Edge." Taker growled, knowing the bastard's name was written all over this.

"So the little locket doll's finally decided to show up." He sneered. "And with good timing, too. I know you're a friend of Helmsley, and he was a heartbeat away from losing his soul to the Lord of Darkness tonight. I'm sure he is very appreciative of your...uncanny appearance."

"Persia!" A shout rang from inside the cell and when Taker looked up, he saw Hunter crawling toward the steel wall that separated them, anger in his eyes as he grabbed onto the metal and tried to pull himself to his feet. "Undertaker, you sick bastard! You let her go right fucking now!"

Taker arched a brow before the cruelest smirk Hunter had ever seen etched itself onto his features. He stood up straight, lifting Persia by the collar, spotting a crooked, drunken smile spread across her face before he headbutted her almost as hard as he would headbutt his opponents in the ring. Consciousness was knocked clean out of her, her body immediately drooping. Taker slipped an arm behind her as she fell backwards, her back arching over his forearm. Hunter immediately started yelling curses at the top of his lungs, trying to crawl his way to the door of the cell while Taker chuckled at him. He knew exactly why he did that. Not only to get her high ass to shut up, but to piss Hunter off as well. "I'll fucking kill you! YOU SICK SON OF A BITCH!"

"You should be thanking her." Taker's words slithered from his lips tauntingly as the crowd behind him roared so loud he thought he would be deaf by sunrise. "You're still alive because of this unfortunate soul. And as for Chyna and Debra?" He looked up the ramp at them, saw the Acolytes walking them down toward the cell, tugging on their chains like they were nothing but dogs. "They weren't much entertainment for me. I'm a man of my word, so they're yours."

Faarooq and Bradshaw ripped the gags from their mouths and threw them both into the cell. Gasping for air and crying their eyes out, they scrambled for Triple H, trying to get as far away from Taker and his henchmen as possible. Hunter kept his eyes on the Deadman as he felt Chyna and Debra grab onto him and cling for dear life, despite the fact that if anything were to happen, he'd barely be able to defend them in his current state. Right now, he needed to get to a hospital because he was sure Taker had broken several of his bones.

"That's the little cunt who attacked Paul Bearer?" Faarooq asked, looking the unconscious Persia up and down in surprise.

Taker's head slowly turned to look at both Acolytes. "Let's go." He demanded in a low growl, giving Hunter one last glare before tossing Persia up onto his shoulder like she was nothing but a ragdoll. The three of them walked up the ramp to exit and just as they reached the curtain, Stone Cold Steve Austin and Stephanie McMahon came racing through the curtain to meet them. Of course, Austin was barking curses at the Undertaker who simply stared at him, unimpressed.

"You'll pay for this." Stephanie spat at the Ministry, her eyes flashing with anger. "Every single one of you dirty fucks!"

"You want a dirty fuck? Come see me in the limo, sweetheart." Bradshaw laughed and Faarooq immediately joined him.

Stephanie gasped, simply staring at them with her mouth hanging agape as they walked on by without further acknowledgments. Stone Cold was tempted to swing at least one good punch to the back of Taker's head, but wasn't sure if he should with Persia dangling from his shoulders in the way like that. He swore under his breath, knowing that the most important thing to do now was get to his Debra. "Debra!" He shouted, taking off down the ramp.

Stephanie followed him as fast as she could in her work heels, her heart dropping the moment she saw Hunter. "Oh, my God!" She gasped, both of them all but tumbling into the cell. Dropping to her knees beside Hunter just as he fell off the cell wall and landed flat on his face with a grunt. He was gone. Whatever ounce of energy that'd sparked up just for him to shout his final words to the Undertaker had now slipped from his broken body, leaving him a motionless heap of battered flesh. Stephanie shook his shoulders, screamed his name, tried everything she could to wake him up but he didn't.

EMTs were now swarming into the cell, carrying a stretcher and several white cloths to wipe the blood from his skin. Stephanie backed away as they grabbed Hunter and carefully lifted him onto the stretcher, strapping him down securely. The other medics had begun to tend to Chyna and Debra, checking for any injuries or reasons to drag them to the medical room along with Hunter.

Somehow, Stephanie knew this wasn't over. In fact, she could feel it in her bones that things were only going to get worse from here. Whoever had the balls to attack Paul Bearer would have hell to pay.

_They're gonna send all of Texas straight to hell._


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Ocean blue eyes fluttered open slowly as a faint groan escaped her lips, fingers twitching on either side of her, moving briefly along something soft and smooth beneath her. Something warm ran slowly down the side of her face and she stuck her tongue out to catch the thick droplet, alarmed by the salty flavor. Blood. She was flat on her back, something cushioning her from beneath, but what the hell was it? She tried to roll over. _Thud!_ Her shoulder hit something hard and she groaned softly as a hint of pain raced through her clavicle. She attempted to roll to the other side, only to have her other shoulder meet something hard, as well. Eyes now widening, she realized that she couldn't see a thing. Everything around her was pitch black.

It seemed that she was awake now, her breathing growing heavy with alarm as her hands shot upward, hitting something above her with a loud thud. Why was it so dark? She couldn't even see her own hands in front of her own eyes. And that was when it hit her. Satin! There was satin above and below her, covering something hard. Hard like...wood! She drew in a sharp gasp as realization dawned in her eyes, causing her heart to nearly drop down into her feet.

She was inside a casket.

"HELP! CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME!?" She immediately started to scream at the top of her lungs, pounding on the sides of the casket with balled fists. "Is there anybody out there!? Let me out of this thing! Please!"

"We hear you loud and clear." A voice spoke from the outside of the casket, causing Persia to freeze immediately. The voice was rather eerie, low, deep, and husky. Something sinister was hidden under that tone. No, not hidden. It was rather bold, actually. Persia's eyes widened as her head turned left and right, unable to tell which side the voice had come from. "Please, let me out!" She shouted. "Please! I don't want to die here!" The air inside the casket was painfully thin and was, in fact, running quite low for her. She could estimate that she had minutes before she suffocated and died, then the damned thing would've been put to good use. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, knowing that she needed to stay calm and think through this situation. Panicking would only make matters worse and she knew it.

"If you want to be released, you'll answer my questions with no problems. No lies, no cover-ups, no beating around the bush. Or else...you _will _die." The voice spoke again, coldly as if whoever it was out there truly wanted her to die. "If you take too long, the oxygen inside this casket will run out and you'll be stuck in there for a very..._very..._long time. Do you understand?"

"W-who are you?" Persia asked after swallowing past the dryness in her throat, her voice cracking with fear. "And why am I in this casket?"

"You're here because you've done something that is unforgivable and you deserve _nothing _but the most brutal punishment I can give. Therefore, who _I _am...does not matter."

"What?" Persia felt panic rising again, trying her hardest to fight it down despite all she was hearing. "I haven't done anything. I don't even know who you are! I'm just here on vacation. Please, just let me go! I just want to go home!" Tears were beginning to build up in her eyes and she went into another screaming fit, pounding on the lid of the casket as hard as she possibly could, tears pouring down her face uncontrollably. She had minutes to live with the short amount of oxygen in the casket and to make matters worse, there was a dangerous man on the outside waiting to kill her for something she didn't even do. First her parents had been taken from her by evil men, and now her life was turning into a living hell? This was insane! All she wanted was to find her parents' killers. Not this.

A deep sigh came from outside the casket before Persia was startled by really loud banging on the lid. She curled her hands over her face in response, whimpering loudly as the man shouted, "You're not going anywhere until my questions are answered!" And it sounded more like the roar of a dragon. "Do you understand me?"

Persia didn't answer. She didn't want to answer. She wanted to get out of the damned thing and go home.

"I said," The man growled. "Do. You. Understand. Me?"

Something told Persia to answer for her own sake, nodding her head as she whispered, "Yes. Yes, I understand you." She was trembling in fear of her life now, trying her hardest to regain her composure. Calm. She needed to stay calm and listen to the man. Prove to him that she was innocent. She heard footsteps, heavy ones, and then heard a low hum.

"Good." The word was dragged out in a malicious hiss. "You've just used up even more of your oxygen freaking out like that. Don't do it again."

Persia nodded quickly although the man couldn't see her, biting back more whimpers.

"You don't know who I am, but I know full and well who you are. A few days ago, someone close to me was brutally attacked. Gash wounds, bruises, and burns covered his entire body and I found him in one of the rooms of my manor, half-hidden beneath a casket. Much like the one you're in now. His eyes were also gouged from his face and he was practically left for dead. We searched for evidence in the room and found evidence that pointed fingers to one person. You."

Persia swallowed again. "What evidence?" She asked, feeling another lump form in her throat.

"A golden locket with a picture of a little girl and her father on the inside. There was a little message written on the back of the picture. To my precious Persia Winchester..." He paused to allow her reply.

Persia's eyes went wide in horror. "What!? How did you get that!" She raised her voice, her breathing picking up again.

"I told you it was found in the room where my...partner...was attacked and left for dead."

"That's impossible!" She heaved, feeling the blood drain out of her face. "I could never do something like that! I don't even know who you and you partner are! How could you blame me for something like this! And how the hell do you know that _I'm _Persia Winchester."

The man went silent, tension thickening in the air.

"How the fuck do you know me!"

…...

Taker's acid green eyes were locked onto the casket before him, but he seemed to be looking right through it as if it wasn't there at all. It was actually quite strange how he came to realize who this woman was, all from finding a harmless little locket. He shut his eyes for a moment, pondering, until images began playing back in his mind. Blurry ones. Memories.

_It was the little girl in the pretty, blue dress again. The little redheaded boy stood watching her from his playroom on the second level of the funeral home as she skipped rope in the backyard, singing, "How much is that doggy in the window? The one with the waggly tail?" And it annoyed the hell out of him because he hated that God-forsaken song, but he loved to watch her. He loved to see the joy in those sparkling, blue eyes of hers. Why? Because it was something he hardly ever felt. There was no joy in going to school every day just to be picked on by the bigger kids and then have to drag himself to the funeral home to sit in his miserable little corner. He wasn't happy. But the little girl in the blue dress was happy._

"_Persia." He heard a man's voice, soon spotting a tall man with a thick mustache and salt-and-pepper hair approach with a smile on his face. "It's time to come home now, sweetheart. Mommy has dinner nice and ready for you at home. Spaghetti. Your favorite."_

"_But, Daddy," The little girl whined, sad eyes turning up to look at him. "I don't want to go home now. The boy hasn't come out to play with me yet."_

"_What boy, sweetheart?" The tall man asked, placing his hands on his hips._

"_The one that lives in the scary house." It was then that the little girl looked up, straight at the window where the little redheaded boy stood, her eyes looking right through the dusty glass. The boy was rooted in place, caught in the act of staring. But she didn't show anger when she spotted him. No. Instead, she smiled. She actually smiled at him. No one – absolutely no one – smiled at him._

_It was...frightening. _

_She was saddened as her father eventually took her by the hand and led her away. It was then that the setting sun cast a glare upon something shiny hanging from her neck. A pretty, golden Victorian locket._

Taker opened his eyes as the images vanished from his mind, lifting his head with a deep breath. He couldn't tell her...not yet. "The Lord of Darkness knows all, in case you haven't been informed." He responded, returning his gaze to the casket. He knew the woman on the inside was absolutely terrified. Good. She needed to be for the heinous crime she'd committed against the Ministry. The crime she refused to confess. "There is no denying that you are the culprit behind Paul's attack."

"Who?" Her tiny voice whined through the coffin.

"Paul Bearer. The man you attacked. If you simply confess to your sin, I might let you leave. But not with all of your little limbs intact. "

"I don't know a Paul Bearer! I've never heard of that name in my entire life! Well...only at funerals, but it was never spoken as a man's actual name. Please, just let me go! I'm telling you, I'm innocent! I don't deserve any of this!"

"You're lying!" Taker slammed both fists down on the lid of the casket. "A goddamn locket with your name and picture on the inside was found among the wreckage! In three seconds, I'm about to open this thing and make you wish you'd just suffocated!"

"Wait..." Taker paused as he heard her voice soften, followed by a moment of silence. Was she finally confessing?

…...

"Wait..." Persia whispered again, hearing him mention a locket for the second time. _Her _locket? Her eyes moved side to side along the satin covering beneath the lid of the casket above her, her mind instantly racing with thought.

"_I'm sorry, Miss Winchester, but we couldn't find any evidence pointing to your father's murderer." _

_She lifted her eyes to look at the cop who had spoken to her, red-rimmed from crying so hard. She didn't even respond to him, but got up and left. The other policemen were leaving the house, shaking their heads in disbelief toward what'd happened. They had already collected the body from the bloodbath, intending to take it in for an autopsy. But Persia needed to find something in that bathroom. Something that she once treasured as a child, until she gave it to her father to keep when she left for college._

_To her surprise, however, when she pushed open the door of his bedroom and looked on the nightstand where he'd left it and hadn't touched it for years after that, it was gone. The locket was gone. And in its place was yet another symbol drawn in her father's blood. She buckled to the floor, tears pouring from her face like waterfalls as her sobs could be heard from outside the house._

_Vengeance...vengeance was the only word that she could hear echoing in her mind. She would have her vengeance._

"No...that can't be possible..." Persia's lips trembled as she began tearing up again, covering her face with her hand while sobs started to shake her.

"Your time is running out, woman." The deep, growl-like voice spoke again. She could tell the man was standing over the casket. It sounded like his head was pretty high above it, too. "You have an estimated two minutes to tell me that either you're the culprit or you know the culprit before you completely run out of oxygen...and your soul drifts straight down to hell."

"Sir, I have to get out of the casket. I know who the attacker is. You just have to let me out of the casket." Persia pleaded in as calm a voice as she could force out.

"What makes you think I'm going to do that just because you asked?" The man sounded irritated.

"Because there is evidence that you missed. Please, just give me a chance to prove that I'm innocent."

There was a pause. "Evidence that I missed? Do enlighten me."

Persia closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then began. "Listen to me, and listen closely. There are men here in Texas that are far more evil than anything I could have imagined. First they took my mother, then they took my father. That's him in the locket next to me. It was his gift to me when I was a little girl. These evil men murdered my father and left him lying neck-deep in a bathtub of his own blood. After that, my locket went missing. And I think they're the ones who attacked your...Paul Bearer and used my locket to cover their tracks and point all evidence to me."

The man was still silent, waiting to hear more perhaps.

"When they killed my father, they left a symbol behind. A warning for more havoc to come, maybe. So if you just let me out of the casket, I can probably find one left here, as well."

"Tell me who these men are." The man demanded, his tone sharp.

"They call themselves the Cult of Beleth. If you let me out, I can help you find evidence of their being here."

"Hmm..." The man hummed in thought.

"I promise I won't run or fight. If you let me die in this casket, then you'll never find who really did this."

"Oh, really?" The man's voice lowered. "Didn't you mention something about you being on vacation earlier?"

"Yes...yes, sir, I did."

"Oh? And how recently was your father murdered?"

"Just last week."

"So your father was murdered and drowned in a pool of his own blood by some dangerous cult here in Texas – which, by the way, I have never heard of and I know just about every cult inside and out – and you decided to come on vacation? You _certainly _do care about your family."

"No. I-" Persia stopped, gathered her thoughts, sighed deeply. "I'm not here on vacation. I lied. I'm sorry. I'm here...because I want to find the cult myself."

"And do what?" She heard the man pacing around the casket now. "I may not know who these...Cult of Beleth bastards are, but I do know that any cult rooted in Texas is the most dangerous and, therefore, will not let a woman like you come sauntering in to take 'em down. You're not superwoman. You'd be wiped out of existence with no form of a trace left for anyone to remember you."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take." Persia lowered her voice, and the pacing stopped.

…...

The Undertaker stopped, his arms hanging by his sides as he stared straight ahead at the other side of the casket where his disciples stood. They had been silent listeners the entire time, anticipating every word and every move that their master had made. Now, they were waiting on him to decide on whether or not he would release his captive or let her suffocate in the casket and die. Those eyes of his were practically unreadable as he sized up all seven of his men, as if wondering what they were thinking. As if he would soon open his mouth and ask for their opinions. And they'd be glad to give it to him. But, he didn't. In fact, his next words were rather unexpected amongst about half of them.

"Get her out the damn thing." He commanded gruffly, turning his back on the casket to allow himself a moment to think about what he was doing. For a moment, he heard nothing from over his massive shoulders. The room had gone completely silent and he could feel the shocked stares upon his back. But he didn't repeat himself. All it took was a slight inquiring tilt of his head and the Ministry was moving to obey his order.

Faarooq and Bradshaw, who had been standing at the front of the group, sent their feet forward at the same time, a loud thump echoing as their heels struck the wooden casket and sent it flying from its perch. A loud shriek came from inside the casket as it flipped over onto its side and hit the hard floor with a startling crash. The lid instantly unbolted and flew open, spitting out a breathless and disoriented Persia Winchester.

Everyone could hear her huffing and puffing for air, realizing that if she'd been left inside the casket a moment longer, she would have taken her very last breath and wouldn't have been able to get it back. The fact that she was actually alive was like a slap in the face as she scrambled about like a lost puppy, her ocean blue eyes darting all around her. The room was fairly dark and beneath her, the floor was cold as ice and hard as stone. She tried to gather where she was, but the brown brick walls and the barred windows sitting high above her and the others was no help. In fact, they scared her even more. It looked like she was in a goddamned dungeon. "W-where-" She tried to speak, but suddenly went into a fit of coughs as the unpleasant stench of burning plastic and formaldehyde assaulted her nostrils, causing her eyes to water a bit.

She at last managed to pull herself to her feet, but hadn't fully regained her bearings. Her heart instantly dropped into her chest when she saw those seven familiar, darkly-dressed men standing on the other side of the flipped casket, eying her dangerously like hungry wolves, not saying a single word. Three of them were grinning at her like little imps, two large men with strange occult-like tattoos drawn across their chests and one smaller man with unruly blonde hair and...fangs?!

Persia sucked in a breath when she saw the blood staining the shorter man's blouse, but before she could let it out in a cry of terror, her back hit something hard and she spun around so violently that she started to fall. She caught a glimpse of something black. Something black and...enormous. Then she noticed that the enormous black mass had arms, shoulders, a lot of wavy black hair and...it was turning toward her. To face her. To look at her! And when she at last saw those acid green eyes, her throat turned into a dry, cracked desert and she began to stumble backwards away from the hulking mass, her hands reaching behind her to grab onto something. Anything that she could use to protect herself against these vicious men surrounding her. Especially the most dangerous entity of them all who was standing directly in front of her, glaring down at her like death itself. "It's you! Oh, God no!" She managed to cry out through aching lungs and a dried throat. "Get back! Stay away from me!"

The Undertaker lunged forward and grabbed her by the arms faster than her eyes could register, pulling her so close to him that she could feel the heat of his body rolling off of him in angry waves. His brows knitted into a vicious frown that sent chills of fear throughout Persia's entire body as she stared up at him with wide terrified eyes. On the inside, she was praying that this was a nightmare, hoping with every fiber of her being that none of this was real. "Let me go! Please, you're hurting me! Please!" She pleaded, shaking her head side to side violently.

Taker growled as chocolate brown hair slapped him across the face several times and gave his captive a violent shake to hopefully shut her up. She screamed louder, angering him even more. "Woman, shut your whinnin' ass up before I stick you back in the casket where you belong! And this time...you won't have two minutes of air! Understand!"

Persia bit her lips hard and shut her eyes as tightly as she could, tiny whimpers still squeaking in her throat. Taker gave her arms a squeeze, causing her to cry out in pain, tears forming in her eyes now. "You're hurting me!" She whined, beginning to tremble in fear.

"I can do a lot more than that." Taker growled between gritted teeth. He dropped one arm to his side (not quite literally because the massiveness of his arm muscle wouldn't allow his arm to touch his side) and used the other to wrap around Persia's neck. She coughed again as he made a quick turn and headed for the door, dragging her along carelessly as she stumbled along to keep up with his long strides. "Shut the fuck up and listen to me, woman." He spoke above her whimpering and whining which was annoying him to no end. "I don't usually do shit like this. Taking my victims and prisoners for their word, but you sounded pretty damned sincere. Probably because you were nearer to death than a ghost, but I know one thing..." He purposely rammed her into the doorpost just to further validate the fact that he wasn't afraid to break every bone in her body without a second thought about it. "Let me find out you're lying...and you'll really, _really _regret it. I'll twist your skinny little body into a human pretzel and string you up for Hunter and the rest of those weak sumbitches you call your friends to see just how much of a bad son of a bitch I am. Understand? Now," He was storming down the hallway, his Ministry now following quickly behind to see what would happen. "I'm gonna haul your little ass to Paul's room and you're gonna look around and find whatever clue can lead me to believe that you're not responsible for all this. And if you don't find it..." He paused for the agonizing effect, listening as Persia began to whimper and plead for his mercy again. A sideways grin formed on his features, an expression that could only have been made by the Devil himself. His threat didn't even have to be completed for anyone to know what would happen to Persia if Taker believed that she was responsible for Paul's attack. The mere fact that he was the Undertaker, The Lord of Darkness, the Demon of Death Valley, was enough to imply what sick and twisted things he would do to her before finally passing her soul into the underworld to suffer for eternity.

"I swear I did nothing!" She cried out after a brief moment of silence and someone behind her shouted, "Bull shit!"

"Quiet!" Taker shouted over his shoulder as they came out into the foyer and began making their way toward one of the two curved staircases leading to the second floor. "The only one who gets to call bull shit around here is me! And the reality of it is that _no one_ would suspect that this scrawny little bit could do heavy damage to a man like Paul. The man may be a goddamn useless buffoon but I'm sure he could put up a fight against a woman! Even when she's under the influence...Edge." He passed a look toward one of his blonde followers, his eyes narrowing darkly.

Edge looked about as if unable to believe that Taker was actually looking at him, that deadly glare making his face grow paler than it already was. "I say it helped out." He excused himself with a light shrug.

"Perhaps." Taker said as if in agreement. "But what have I told you? One of these days you're going to give someone brain cancer, boy. So cut it out!"

"I won't drug anyone else, Taker. I swear."

When they got up to the second floor, Taker halted rather harshly without warning and the others nearly ran right into the back of him. His lips parted a bit as a frown creased his forehead. Toward the very end of the hallway, he could hear high-pitched wailing sounds and instantly knew that they were coming from Paul's room. His eyes widened slightly and a deep growl rumbled low in his throat before he took off down the hall, his large booted feet stomping loudly across the wooden floor.

"The hell's goin' on, Boss." Bradshaw asked from behind. "Yer actin' all frantic all of a sudden."

Taker didn't respond. He was in front of Paul's door within a moment, thrusting his foot forward to kick it open. The loud bang startled Persia, causing her to shriek with a noticeable jump, followed by the continuation of her whimpering. What she saw in the room frightened her. Rather..._who _she saw.

A large, rotund man was lying in a plain, queen-sized bed. A black comforter covered him from the waist down so that all Persia could see of him was his torn and bloodied white button-up and within two seconds, she saw that the skin beneath the shirt was just as gashed and bloodied. He was awake despite looking as if he should have been unconscious and he was proving that he was fully awake by convulsing and jerking himself about violently, howling and hollering to the ceiling. There was no telling why, but Persia instantly assumed that it was because of his eyes. They were pouring dried blood all the way down his face to his neck. And that was when she noticed that – dear God – the man didn't have eyes at all.

Mortified beyond belief, she began shaking her head slowly side to side, unable to peel her eyes away from the horrible sight before her as Taker dragged her straight toward the man. Before reaching the bed, he deposited her to the floor like a bag of insignificant trash and immediately went to grab Paul's shoulders. "Paul. Paul! Can you hear me?" He shouted at the man in hopes of calming him, but it didn't seem to work the first time. "Jesus fuckin' Christ, he's awake!"

"He's awake!" Someone repeated from behind as the rest of the Ministry poured into the room.

"Hold him down!" Faarooq shouted authoritatively.

Taker moved back a few steps as the Ministry surrounded Paul and laid their arms upon him, forcing him down onto the mattress. There was no telling what he would have done to himself had they shown up a moment later. "Paul!" Taker spoke again. "Listen to my voice, Paul. No one's here to hurt you." Taker knew that he was probably feeling the painful effects of his attack, both physically and mentally. He couldn't see who was in the room with him, therefore in his mind, there were seven big men pouncing to attack him. "It's me, Paul. It's Taker. Remember this voice?" He hated to see his Conscience in such a panic. It was usually the other way around. Taker would be losing his shit and Paul would be the one trying to calm him and keep him from opening the gates of hell on someone. This felt strange; being the sane one of the two. And it made Taker hurt inside. It made him furiously angry like at any second, he'd start breathing smoke through his nostrils. He watched with a blank expression as Paul continued to jerk and convulse violently beneath the restraining holds of his Ministry. He could tell that they were struggling, someone inhuman strength was powering the violent body beneath them. He would have joined them, but he didn't want to hurt Paul more than what he'd already suffered. "Paul, listen to me! We're here to help! We're not here to hurt you!"

"He's mentally scarred." Mideon stated between clenched teeth. "He's not going to believe you!"

"He's right." Viscera agreed, giving Taker a worried look. "We may need to find a sedative."

"We are NOT sedating him!" Taker roared, but then stopped to think about it. Frustrated, he lifted one hand to his hip and used to other to drag his fingers through his wavy, midnight black hair, a curse leaving his lips in a loud hiss. "God-fucking-damnit!" He shouted above the bed's loud squeaking and Paul's wailing. "You know he keeps all that stuff, Viscera. Go fucking get it!"

Viscera nodded once and left the room to do as he was told. He returned a minute later with a long needle filled with a clear liquid, handing it to the Undertaker. "Grab his head!" He barked and Edge and Gangrel immediately clapped their hands to Paul's forehead and the sides of his face, holding it steady as best they could. Taker maneuvered between Christian and Mideon, who were working together to hold down Paul's right arm and leg, wrestling with the limbs as if they were angry crocodiles or something. He spotted the perfect target on Paul's neck where the jugular sat, invisible beneath the large amount of fat warbling about due to his movements. Raising the needle slightly, he sent it plunging into that spot with a small grunt, emptying the clear liquid into its place. It only took about five seconds for Paul to wind down, his wailing fading to small, choppy humming sounds and his body had begun to grow still. It was until he was completely motionless that everyone moved away from him, slowly and cautiously in case the medicine didn't really work.

"Is he okay?" Edge asked, his breath heaving slightly from the hard work of having to restrain Paul Bearer. That damned rotund demon!

"I guess so." Christian was the one to answer, his eyes slightly wide. "What in the hell was that all about?"

"He's fully realized what's happened to him. His burned and scarred flesh and his missing eyes..." The Undertaker released a deep breath which ended in a faint growl. "We may need to restrain him. With titanium this time. Later on, though. As for right now," He looked sideways toward Persia who was sitting with her knees hugged to her chest against the wall. She looked an absolute mess with her chocolate brown hair flying everywhere, her makeup running with her tears and sweat soaking her skin. Her chest moved up and down in short, ragged breaths and Taker was sure that at any moment, she would start hyperventilating. "Someone has to find something for me." He approached her, tangled his massive hand into her hair and hauled her to her feet.

"Ow, stop it!" She whined in pain, reaching for his hand as if she actually had the strength to fight it. "It hurts!"

"She says it hurts, Master." Mideon hissed, obviously finding some sick pleasure in her choice of words. "Perhaps you should let me take her to my quarters and show her _true _pain." A low, haunting giggle followed that statement and Persia felt her gut wrench as a result.

"You can do with her anything you want," Taker answered, pulling her to face him and looking down into her wide, terrified eyes as he lifted his chin a bit. "Only if we find out that she's guilty here tonight. Now get busy, woman." He carelessly shoved her forward, commanding the others to step out of the room so she could conduct a proper investigation. His lip twitched as she fell over her own feet and landed directly on Paul, screaming at the top of her lungs in absolute horror when she realized what she had fallen on. She jumped back as hard as she could, nearly bumping into a nearby lamp stand. Taker sighed impatiently, loud enough to let her know that he hadn't left with the others and that he was watching her every move. Closely.

She jumped when she heard the sound, knowing full well that he was there...like that haunting shadow that would watch her sleep at night while alone in her bedroom. The one that frightened her as a child. Especially during stormy nights when she would have to call big brother to sleep with her. Oh, how she wished he were here to get her out of this mess. No. She wanted Hunter to save her. He was much stronger than her brother, but there was no telling where he'd ended up after the merciless beatdown Taker had put him through.

"I don't have all night, woman." Taker stated gruffly, folding his arms across his chest. He leaned back against the wall next to the bedroom door, propping one foot up against it as if to say that he wasn't leaving until the deed was done.

Persia trembled as she looked back at him, her bottom lip quivering just as hard as the rest of her body. Taker simply tilted his head at her, his eyes narrowing as if to say, "Bitch, you'd better get to steppin'...or else." And that was all it took for her to realize just how serious a situation this truly was. Her legs felt weak beneath her and she wanted to curl into a ball and die, even if it meant having this angry hulking mass of a man pounce on her and beat her through the floor for doing so. She swallowed down the lump that'd formed in her throat, telling herself to be strong. All she had to do was find a single clue, that little red symbol. And she would be free.

She would walk away from this unscathed. And she would punish the brutes who murdered her mother and father.


End file.
